Dusk
by Distrov
Summary: Bran decided to never go climbing on the fateful day, and Eddard Stark has refused to marry his daughter away, along with taking a seat in the small council. Initial conflict may have been avoided by these simple alterations, but there will always be someone willing to make the first move. Someone willing to risk everything to get what they want.
1. Chapter One - Eddard Stark

**Author's Note**: A complete alteration to G.R.R.M's masterpiece, of course using his brilliantly crafted universe and characters. The story starts as the Baratheon and Lannister families leave Winterfell. Bran had decided it wasn't a day for climbing, and Eddard Stark had flat out refused to marry away Sansa and go to King's Landing.

Daenerys Targaryen will be implemented somewhere around the conquest of Astapor, perhaps after. This is simply because she has little to do with the plot going on in Westeros at the time, so not much changes.

Initial conflict may have been avoided by these simple alterations, but there will always be someone willing to make the first move. Someone willing to risk everything to get what they want.

Dusk

By

D. Distrov

Eddard Stark watched from the highest tower in Winterfell as Robert and his escort made their way back towards the forest from which they had appeared mere days before. There was a cold morning breeze, Eddard watched the sun appear from the horizon to the east. It was early in the morning, and within the hour the sun would be covered by a grey layer of clouds.

The days were growing shorter, and noticeably so. Eddard narrowed his eyes at horizon, the bags under his eyes dry as sand. With every breath Eddard took, cold northern air filled his lungs and reminded him of the fact - Winter was Coming. He pulled the abnormally large fur cloak he wore closer to his chest, the cold having no trouble penetrating the underlying layers of leather and cloth.

_I've let a friend down, but I was right in doing so_ Ned convinced himself as he noticed the last horses and carriages slowly making their way into the forest. He placed his hands on the cobble of the tower, his hands covered in gloves made from thin leather, the inner layer the finest wool available this far north.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of practice swords colliding - and the sound of children having fun. Eddard turned on his heel to stroll around the massive tower, now peeking down towards the courtyard. Jon and Robb were fencing, and they appeared to be having a swell time. A smile crept across Eddard's worn face. His skin had grown more grey, his eyes more tired and his lips increasingly dryer - he was under the weather.

Jon had always been the better with a sword of the two, he had a knack for it. Eddard continued to let his gaze roam the courtyard, finding Arya talking to a boy that Eddard did not remember the name of.

_That girl_

Eddard looked at Arya with love in his eyes, the kind of love that only a father could posses. Eddard blew air out his nose at the idea that she was plotting a prank on Sansa - which was most likely true. Eddard turned around in a better mood than he had been just a minute ago, ascending the stairs of the tower with occasional groans.

The wood creaked underneath his boots, made from thick leather and a layer of fur. It was old wood, but it had survived more winters than Eddard himself, it was reliable. Eddard made his way out of the tower, encountering Maester Luwin on his way down the cobblestone stairwell to the courtyard. The elderly Maester gave him a respectable nod and a genuine smile before making his way to the south-eastern tower, presumably to send a raven.

The earth in the courtyard was hard dirt, and Eddard was convinced as he walked across it, that if it had not been so cold - the courtyard would be entirely made out of mud.

Eddard looked at Jon and Robb up close, noticing a clear change of pace as he arrived at the scene - suddenly it was competition. Jon was a humble man, but did not hold back for pity's sake. Robb fought well, but Jon had more understanding of the art of fencing.

Not only was he quick and struck with great force, he was exceptionally talented at reading an opponent's body language, and pin pointing their weaknesses.

Eddard looked at Jon, he was smiling, seemingly enjoying every block, every strike and every marking.

_My son_

Eddard tried to convince himself of those words as he saw the cheerful young man swing his sword. Another cold breeze rolled in and made Eddard blink a few times, his eyeballs themselves were dry in these conditions.

Every time Eddard looked at Jon, he reminded her of Lyanna - and terribly so. Sometimes he could not bear to look at him, it reminded him of his greatest failure, his greatest mistake. Eddard threw a half smile at the boys and walked towards the main hall of Winterfell. Eddard noticed that a banner had a hole in it just below the eye of the dire wolf, perhaps a poorly placed arrow. Eddard felt the cold of the courtyard leave him behind as he entered the door to the great hall where fires were burning and soup was being made.

He filled his nostrils with the smell of a rich broth, perhaps even chicken if he was in luck. Eddard was greeted by all the servants as he passed through the long tables. Eddard made it a rule to nod back, and preferably whilst smiling, he felt incredibly rude if he forgot.

Eddard walked with heavy steps into the dimly lit corridor, the heat of the torches and fires fondling his skin underneath the armor - it was heavenly. Eddard took a left and made his way to the kitchen, and upon entry noticed the cook, Gelda, stirring a rather large grey pot over a well fed fireplace. Eddard took a deep breath through his nose.

_Definitely chicken._

"Could I perhaps be as bold as to ask for a bowl?" Eddard said with a smile on his face, letting his wrinkly large hands wrap around a wooden bowl, accompanied by a spoon.

Gelda returned the smile "Something would be off If you didn't, my lord".

Eddard extended the bowl towards Gelda, eager to slurp away at something warm.

Gelda lifted the big stirring spoon, and with it came cuts of chicken and much more. As the soup filled Eddard's bowl, he could easily identify all the ingredients.

_Chicken, carrots, a single radish, potatoes and of course peas_

Eddard truly did appreciate good food, and especially in this weather. Another two spoonfuls did the bowl justice, and Eddard nodded once again, leaving the kitchen with careful steps. Early dinner had become a daily occurrence as of late, Eddard would sneak in and get a taste of the wares simply because he was bored, or starving. Eddard sat down in the hall and started munching down on the soup.

The perfect balance of vegetables, meat and spices made this soup special, but it was good in a simple way. Salt, pepper and a small amount of garlic was all you needed, anything more than that was sheer material excess.

Eddard felt his cheeks and throat warm as the almost scolding hot soup entered him, spoonful after spoonful. A few servants walked by with hungry eyes, but they would eat later. Again, Eddard was plagued by his decision yesterday.

He hoped that he had not offended Robert when he refused the marriage proposal and the seat in the small council, but it was what he had to do, for his family. Eddard did not particularly like Joffrey, nor Cersei, or Jaime, which all made perfect sense to him. Joffrey looked a lot like Jaime, and it was no mystery to Eddard just why, he had speculated upon it for years.

If the child was Roberts, it would be two inches taller, and a foot wider.

Eddard smiled as he gulped down the last remaining pieces of chicken and carrots at the bottom of the bowl. His belly was filled with hot, delicious soup, and all he had to do was be alone with his thoughts - for now.

Eddard remembered his conversation with Jon from last night, it was less than pleasant. They had discussed Jon's decision to join the Night's Watch, and Eddard had advised him against it, knowing that ultimately, it was still Eddard's decision, he much preferred Jon to make a choice. Jon had exclaimed a wish to gain honor, to become a man, at least to become _someone_. Eddard could not relate to Jon, but he understood his burning desire to make a man out of himself.

Eddard wondered briefly if he legitimized him as a Stark if he'd stay, but the thought was swiftly overshadowed by the problematic nature of such doings. Eddard left his bowl on the table and placed his spoon in it.

As Eddard stepped back into the morning cold, he was reminded of the great many decisions he would have to make in the near future.

Arya needed to be betrothed, same with Sansa. Robb needed a wife, and Bran and Rickon needed to pick up on their lessons with Maester Luwin.

The question remained.

_What do I do with Jon_

Eddard had many ideas, although none of them seemed as convincing of Jon's proposal to join the Night's Watch, perhaps it was for the best. Benjen could watch out for him, he could live out a happy life amongst similar minded men - and murderers, Eddard reminded himself.

No, Jon needed a proper life, but exactly how he was going to give that to Jon, Eddard did not know, but what he did know was that Lyanna wouldn't have wanted him to live his days out on the wall.

Eddard moved a gloved hand through his long dark hair, leaning his head back to take a deep breath. Just as Lord Eddard Stark looked up, he noticed a tiny snowflake coming towards him, twisting and turning in the wind like a tiny piece of paper. Eddard didn't move, and the snowflake landed directly on his nose.

Eddard narrowed his eyes at the sky and pulled his fur cloak closer around his torso.

Winter was coming.


	2. Chapter Two - Sansa Stark

**Author's Note**: I realize chapters have been short in the story so far, but seeing as I don't have the time to write a lot I'm going to release a few chapters a bit raw, just to get some guidelines and perhaps some response from the community. I might edit these early chapters into longer ones if I feel like it later on, perhaps increasing descriptive paragraphs or generally making more dialogue.

Once I get some time, chapters with regularly be around the 4500-10000 words. So I hope that you're enjoying my story so far, I appreciate all constructive criticism and once again - thank you for reading this far into my story. Enjoy.

Chapter Two - Sansa Stark

The first thing Sansa Stark woke up to was the cold. Sansa's eyes flickered, her eyelids half closed as she raised her head from the pillow. It was freezing in her chambers, and Sansa did not see herself getting out of bed within the next half hour, so she got comfortable. Moving the furs and linens around she rotated onto her back and set her grey eyes upon the frame of her bed, letting a loud yawn out. She could feel how messy her hair had become overnight, and she was not looking forward to washing it - getting out of water in Winterfell was chilling.

Sansa was wearing only her smallclothes, and she preferred to sleep that way - not too warm. She raised her head to gather her hair in her palm, placing the hair in a beautiful spread over her pillow, she preferred not to have hair in her face.

Reflecting upon the events of the last few days she immediately thought of Joffrey, then of Jaime. Both the men were handsome to Sansa, they even slightly resembled each other in certain ways, which Sansa found a humorous coincidence.

She moved her hands up and rubbed her eyes with her palms, exclaiming another sigh before deciding that she had to get up. Lightly letting her legs slip out under the furs she twisted and turned her body towards the edge of the bed.

Sansa placed her feet on the floor in her chambers, sitting upright.

_That's cold._

She let out another yawn before fitting some wooly socks onto her feet. She got out of the bed with a little stumble, making her way over to fit a pair of shoes on. As Sansa fitted the boots onto her petite feet, she thought about Joffrey again - a recent obsession of hers.

He was handsome, elegant and kind to everyone around him. Sansa never spent much time considering the political intrigue concerning a marriage like that, but she did love the idea of a husband like Joffrey, she was a romantic.

Sansa as she fitted the shoes on - looked out the window and to her surprise, the sky was not as grey as it was yesterday. Leaving her chambers with a brown robe fitted over her smallclothes, she headed to get dressed, then for breakfast.

Sansa loved to get dressed, especially if someone was visiting, because then it was important.

_Joffrey._

The name kept repeating itself in the back of her head, followed usually by his face smirking, smirking at Sansa. As Sansa reached her handmaidens room, she noticed that Arya was in there already getting dressed.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa muttered in a degrading tone of voice.

"Nellie is sick, she can't even fit on a pair of boots".

_Why did the little brats handmaiden have to be sick?_

Sansa sighed "Well you should let me get dressed first then, it's my handmaiden".

Arya responded with a grin and a light shrug "I got here first, didn't I?".

_She's so annoying._

Sansa looked at Arya with disdain, taking a seat at the other end of the room, waiting her turn.

Sansa was convinced that Arya enjoyed this to the fullest.

_Stupid tomboy._

Sansa crossed her legs and let her imagination run wild.

_What if father had let me marry Joffrey?_

She imagined herself walking up the aisle in King's Landing, not knowing how it looked she imagined it as a great big church, the ceiling so high that you couldn't even hit it with a rock. She imagined the Red Keep, and her ruling it next to Joffrey, some day.

Sitting next to him as he placed himself in the Iron Throne. Joffrey would be a fair king, a good king - and Sansa would be remembered as his gentle and caring queen, loved by all.

Sansa cracked a smile as her imagination took her to the Red Keep, and for a moment she forgot all about Arya.

Sansa saw Joffrey walking towards her, dressed in the finest attire money could buy, embracing her, kissing her - loving her.

When Sansa snapped out of it, she noticed that Arya was heading for the door, all dressed. She raised herself slowly from the chair, gathering her hair in her palm to let it fall down over her back. Her hair was soft, but slightly tangled today - she would need to get it combed.

It only took about a quarter of an hour for Sansa to get dressed this morning, plain and simple. She wore a dress with a wolf embroided onto the left side of her chest, on the other side, a pattern of beautiful plants that stretched all the way to her sleeve. It was a dark brown and light grey dress, reaching all the way down to the floor. She enjoyed the wool dresses the most - already having learned that in the south, they wore corsets and silk, she had decided that it was not for her.

_I would wear a burlap sack to marry Joffrey_

Sansa thought to herself as she made her way down into the hall, the smell of bacon and fish filling her nostrils. Arya had already seated herself between Theon and Jon, with Robb sitting on the other side. Sansa walked slowly towards the four, and in a certain way she did not feel as welcome as she'd like.

"Good morning" Sansa greeted the boys, sending them each a friendly smile as she took a seat next to Robb. Theon nodded back, and Jon and Robb both replied with a hearty "Good morning". Sansa filled her plate with bacon, a piece of cheese and a loaf of bread from yesterday - the bread for the soup.

Sansa liked to eat, but her friends had informed her that a proper lady only eats half as much as she desires, boys did not like when a girl ate more than them, and it made Sansa insecure in her habits. Sansa took a bite of the bacon, it not being entirely as crispy as she'd prefer, but she didn't complain, she rarely did.

Robb swallowed hard on a piece of fish and nodded in Sansa's direction "Still sour over Joffrey are we?" He gave her a half smile and put a hand on her shoulder, patting her lightly. Sansa didn't know how to respond at first, so she gave the piece of bacon a few excessive seconds in her mouth.

"No" She responded quite plainly, her cheeks blushing slightly - she could feel all the eyes on her.  
"S' alright, there'll be more princes in the future" Robb assured her as he took a stand, placing his knife and fork onto the plate.

"Right, Jon, Theon... Where is Bran? I thought we were going hunting." Robb asked, rotating his head around to get a good look at the room.

"Probably climbing" Jon replied, swallowing the last piece of cheese, washing it down with some milk.

Robb nodded at Jon.

"Aye, let's find him and get going then, we only have so much time".

Jon and Theon sprung to action and both left Arya on the bench.

"Can I come?" Arya asked Robb as he made his way towards the exit.

"No" he replied, not turning around to see the disappointment on Arya's face, perhaps he didn't want to.

Sansa did not understand Arya, why did she have to be so difficult?

"Girls don't hunt, Arya".

"I do" Arya replied, her tone of voice turning slightly more hostile.

"You've been out there once - _once_" Sansa replied.

Arya rose to her feet, placing her knife and fork on the plate "That's one more time than you have, you horse" and with that remark Arya took off, seemingly frustrated.

Sansa wanted to call Arya names, but she didn't feel like pursuing her into the kitchens, that was simply too much effort. Just as Sansa was about to leave her plate she noticed her father entering the hall from the outside, dressed in his usual armor, a sword by his side. Eddard had grown weak over the last couple of weeks, Sansa had noticed his physical demeanor having changed quite a bit.

Eddard was visibly avoiding human contact as he moved through the hall , and Sansa did not feel like challenging that, not right now. Joffrey had gone back down south, and there was nothing she could say that would make Eddard send her down there with him. Nothing.

Sansa pulled the bench out and rose to her feet, dusting her dress off at the back, running her palms alongside her behind and thighs to make sure the dress still looked proper.

_Where's mother?_

Sansa wondered - Catelyn would usually join them for breakfast, and if not that, at least check on them.

She rubbed her hands together as she walked towards the courtyard, well aware that the cold would be a nuisance. As Sansa made it outside she saw Robb, Bran, Jon and Theon equipping themselves for a hunt, it appeared as they weren't going to bring the dogs, or any dire wolves for that matter.

Arya was talking to that boy she always chats with, seemingly having a good time.

Sansa felt the breeze against her pale skin, her hair blowing lightly back towards the door from which she came. Sansa decided she would seek out one of her close friends and perhaps spend some time with her, it seemed like it was going to be a slow day.

As Sansa walked towards the outer regions of Winterfell, she slipped a pair of soft leather gloves on, shuddering as a gust of wind almost made it up under her dress.

"Sansa my dear" sounded a soft voice from behind her.

_Mother_

Sansa turned around to find Catelyn, dressed in a beautiful blue and brown dress, tiny fish embroided around the neck area. She wore a scarf also fitted with gilded fishes, a true Tully. Catelyn looked quite fresh, opposite to Eddard.

Sansa smiled and walked over to hug her mother.

"I'm sorry about yesterday dear" Catelyn muttered as Sansa buried her face in her shoulder. Catelyn ran her fingers through Sansa's locks, rubbing her scalp gently.

"Your father is a mysterious man at times, but I believe he did the right thing" The hug ended and Sansa and Catelyn looked each other in the eyes, Sansa not fully able to hide her frustration.

"What did he do other than refuse me a wedding?" Sansa asked, her tone of voice confused and judgmental.

Catelyn smiled and rubbed Sansa gently on the upper arm.

"He chose family over duty".


	3. Chapter Three - Jaime Lannister

Chapter Three - Jaime Lannister

Jaime leaned his head back with a sigh, spreading his arms wide. The sound of horses racing across the mud combined with the sound of lances splintered against plate armor. Jaime took a deep breath.

_This is my element._

Josmyn Peckledon strapped Jaime into his armor, in record time.

"It appears I've made the right choice" Jaime gave a sly smirk towards the ceiling of the tent. He could sense how full of joy his new found squire was, he could feel his energy.

"It is a privilege, Ser" Josmyn muttered, but it was clear to Jaime that he was focused more on his job that chatting - Jaime liked that. Jaime was only missing the brace on his left hand, and of course his sword.

It was a warm day in King's Landing, Jaime preferred that to a great extent, since it made his armor look unbelievably beautiful.

_Maybe if my fights were longer, I'd hate the warmth. _

Jaime wondered, snorting at the thought of him actually losing.

"You're all set Ser" Josmyn muttered as he turned around towards Jaime's gear. Josmyn wrapped his hand around Jaime's sword, his shield and the lance for good measure. Jaime walked towards the flaps of the tent, his armor rattling.

Jaime ran his gloved fingers through his golden hair, smiling at the sun as he stepped into the tournament site.

_Finally._

The mud was deep today, Jaime rubbed his nose as he made his way towards King Roberts podium his steps long and heavy. He immediately felt the summer warmth against his armor, and as he had previously predicted, he started to sweat.

"Gregor Clegane wins the shield and sword combat!" The announcer roared as clapping and cheering sounded from the other side of the stage. Jaime walked out with Josmyn at his heels, his chin raised and his chest out, he was confident.

Gregor walked past him, presumably on the way back to his tent to make ready for the jousting. Jaime gave him a sly smirk, passing him he noticed just how sweaty the man was, trying to catch his breath, his steps lazy and strong.

_The heat has certainly defeated him_

Jaime moved towards an area encircled by fence, this was the combat area for duels and spars. A hefty applause sounded as people noticed his presence.

"Ser Jaime Lannister will be facing Ser Benjamin Dorse, the winner advances to the next combat" The announcer roared, a small applause following his statement.

Jaime exclaimed an annoyed sigh, the first fight in a tournament was always a bore, especially if it was a Hedge-Knight, which Jaime was convinced it was.

Josmyn planted the long sword in Jaime's right hand and stepped back, taking his place outside of the encircled area. Jaime and his opponent had about forty square feet to fight on, which was plenty for Jaime, his footwork being most excellent.

_Hurry up you low born rat,_ Jaime grimaced, he was not a patient man. Suddenly a tall man in full plate appeared behind a tent, a squire struggling to keep up behind him. He had broad shoulders, red hair and freckles covering most of his face. Jaime raised a brow slightly, never having seen the man before.

The man was wearing a helmet with a beak visor, something Jaime didn't partake in, in fact he didn't even wear a helmet. Jaime took a few steps around in the circle, paying attention to the condition of the ground, how far he could possibly sink into the mud if he stomped on it hard enough.

Ser Benjamin Dorse was handed his long sword and raised his guard, standing at the opposite end of the circle.

Jaime looked at the man, his visor now closed off - a smile crept across the handsome Lannister's face. Jaime looked up at Cersei, whom was sitting eighty feet or so away from the circle, then he looked to Robert.

Jaime slowly turned his gaze upon the hedge-knight and assumed a defensive position. Jaime was aware that when men fought a well known, or widely respected combatant, they would usually attempt to get the first blow, simply out of fear - or perhaps eagerness.

Jaime kept smiling at the man, both of them frozen in place. Suddenly the man advanced, stepping forward he swung upon Jaime, a wide slash coming from the left. Jaime saw it coming, he had a knack for reading body language, determining how an opponent would attempt to hit him, pointing out weak spots.

Jaime stepped forward, parrying the blow before countering with a riposte, not piercing the breastplate, but sending the knight stumbling backwards. Jaime had already grown impatient, and so he stepped forward, the swords colliding perhaps another five times before Jaime marked him again - this time in the thigh.

The stranger grunted in anger and swung at Jaime in roughly the same fashion as he had the first time. Jaime simply stepped in close, moving the sword up to parry his flank. In the heat of the moment Jaime slipped his foot behind the man's heel, pushing him to the ground with a firm bump in the chest.

Before the man could come to his senses, Jaime's sword was at his neck..

"Jaime Lannister wins the first combat, and in record time!" The announcer roared, a wave of people cheering and clapping loudly erupting in the seating areas.

Jaime didn't bother to help the man up, he simply handed his sword to his squire and let his eyes roam across the cheering crowd. This was what Jaime lived for, this is what he strived for at all times. In the moment where he puts his opponent on his back, he is not the Kingslayer, he is the victorious combatant.

"Well fought Ser" Josmyn pointed out as he took the sword back, cleaning it thoroughly with a white rag. Usually after a combat, people would vacate the encircled area, but Jaime stood in the exact same spot as he had before, waiting.

"For the second combat, Jaime Lannister will face Ser Varyan Kelston, the winner will qualify for tomorrows semi-final!" The announcer yelled.

Jaime was handed his sword, running his left hand through his hair with a sigh he turned around to face his new opponent. The sight was nothing new to Jaime, a well built man in expensive armor, convinced he was going to be the one to bring him down.

_How admirable._

"Are we going to fight or not?" Jaime said with a smirk on his face, rotating the hilt of the sword in his hand as he waited for the man to engage.

The knight advanced in a manner that exposed him to Jaime, without him even needing to block. Jaime simply dodged the sword, his golden locks falling into his eyes as he appeared upright at the man's right flank, their faces less than four inches from each other. Jaime's plan worked well, especially due to the man not wearing a helmet.

Jaime head butted the man on the nose, a loud crackle was heard just as they collided. Jaime pushed the man away, expecting him to swing wildly at him.

_Bingo_

The man was bleeding all the way down to his chin, taking daring swings as he wildly attempted to mark Jaime. Jaime blocked his third swing, grasping onto the hilt of his opponents sword with his left hand. Jaime ripped the sword from his hand and kicked him in the stomach, resulting in the man falling backwards.

A thunderous applause spread quickly in the audience.

Jaime stood there as his opponent cursed him from the mud, blood streaming down his cheeks. He dropped his opponents sword in the mud and turned to hand his back to the squire. Jaime lifted his hand and waved at the many on lookers, smiling broadly as he made his way out of the encircled area.

A gust of wind sent his golden locks flying backwards, almost making it appear as he had slicked his hair back. A few girls in the audience screamed at this, and Jaime returned the assumed compliment with another wave.

"Jaime Lannister advances to the semi-final, along with Gregor Clegane, Anders Baston and Brienne of Tarth!" The announcer roared.

_Brienne? Isn't that a woman's name? How did that happen?_

Jaime wondered how in the bloody hell a woman could've fought her way to a semi-final, alongside himself and Gregor.

_Easier competition._

Jaime and Josmyn made their way back to the tent, the applause fading behind them. Jaime was not a patient man, he had already begun loosening the straps on his bracers.

"Tomorrow we'll take the trophy Josmyn, and then I'll take you to a whorehouse for a celebratory bonus" Jaime smiled. Jaime enjoyed not so much the look on people's faces, or the joy he brought them.

He enjoyed when people became invested in him as a person, so he could hold things against them, and always have a person willing to get their hands dirty. It was a lesser known fact about him.

"You're a generous man Ser" Josmyn muttered as he hurried to remove the straps. Jaime didn't respond, he was just enjoying the removal of his armor. It didn't seem like long when he was out fighting, but he noticed that at least half an hour must've gone by - as people were jousting once again already.

Relieved of his armor, Jaime Lannister poured himself a cup of wine and told his squire to go and fix up his gear. Strolling out the red tent, Jaime noticed that the flaps were gilded, he hadn't even seen it on the way in.

_I wonder where Tyrion is..._

Jaime pondered as he took a slurp of the wine, letting his taste buds erupt in euphoria that was caused by only the most excellent wine. In Jaime Lannister's eyes, a perfect day consisted of him fighting, then copious amounts of wine, and then finally Cersei.

Jaime wondered what Cersei would be doing tonight. He was well aware that her and Robert only slept together once or twice every full moon, it was not a healthy marriage - everyone could see that.

Jaime ran his fingers through his hair as he emptied his cup, arriving at the podium where Robert, Cersei and the rest of the royal family was seated. Jaime approached from the left, climbing the few steps in quick succession. He poured himself another cup from the king's wine jug.

Robert turned his head from the jousting to gaze upon Jaime.

"Well fought Kingslayer, you're one of the talented few that make me wish I could go in there and crack some bloody skulls" Robert had barely finished his sentence before his wine cup was halfway into his mouth, emptying itself it seemed.

"Well, why don't you?" Jaime responded, taking another sip with a smirk on his face.

"Don't be stupid boy, I just gave you a compliment" Robert grunted, not even bothering to look at Jaime.

Jaime and Robert were worlds apart in every way, but Jaime could not help but to admire his self reliance and careless demeanor.

Taking a sip of his wine Jaime took an empty seat next to Myrcella Baratheon. Jaime had not even held Myrcella and Tommen, nor Joffrey when they were mere babies, Cersei had never let him within a foot of them, claiming that it was too risky.

Jaime had his doubts about the legitimacy of Cersei's reasons, but he did not care. Not having anything to do with them, it was hard to love, or even pretend to himself that he was fond of them. Myrcella and Tommen had redeeming qualities, but Joffrey was simply a spoiled brat.

Jaime took another sip, letting the thought of his children rest. The only reason Jaime sat here was to be near Cersei, he didn't care for other people's combats, unless it was someone better than himself, which was a rare occasion.

Jamie let his eyes roam the crowd, many people from many places, he thought to himself. He spotted a Tully banner, a Tyrell banner and a house Arryn banner - but no Stark banners.

_Eddard Stark..._

Jamie would've wanted him to be here. He reflected upon just how it would be to spar against that man, a long-term wish of his. Suddenly something snapped Jamie out of his train of thought, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. There was something that appeared a woman, but at the same time looked nothing like one.

_What an absolute monster._

Jamie watched as the giant of a woman conversed with a much smaller man, also fitted with plate armor. Jamie quickly figured it out.

_That must be Brienne of Tarth... _

_What a goofy looking horse of a woman._

Jamie cracked a smile as all these names and descriptive titles flashed through his head, he had never experienced a person so easy to ridicule, it was almost too easy. Jaime hoped that he would get to fight her, just for the sheer spectacle - what an amazing freak they had found for him.

Robert threw his empty cup towards the pair of jousters as they exchanged words "Start the bloody joust before I piss myself!". The men sprung into action and return to their own side of the court.

Jaime could not help it, he was entertained.

_That man has the greatest one-liners._

Suddenly Cersei got up from her seat, holding her dress slightly above her ankles she made her way down from the podium, towards the back of the camp.

"Sister" Jaime exclaimed, immediately taking a stand to follow her.

Cersei had made her way back towards hers and Roberts tent, walking at a brisk pace through the poorly kept grass. Jaime caught up and reached out to grasp her wrist.

"Didn't you hear me calling?" He said as Cersei turned with an angry facial expression.

"I did - but if I had spent another minute on that stage smelling Robert, and at the same time hearing him speak, I would've tossed myself out in front of a horse".

Jaime tilted his head with a smile "We could go for a walk, I doubt the king will be out and about in his current state".

Cersei looked around hesitantly, her strong eyebrows always revealing to Jaime what was going on inside of her. Jaime moved his other hand up, firmly locking their hands together.

"Quickly then... I suspect that Robert has a hunch about us... He could've questioned Lancel" Cersei sounded nervous and slightly irritated, her skin dry and her hair bearing the scent of wine.

Jaime snorted, shrugging lightly "If Lancel has told Robert anything, It'll be nothing but a lie - besides, I'll snap his little neck if he oversteps his boundaries" Jaime would do anything to reassure Cersei in return for sex, _anything._

"Father would have a fit if you did that, and you know it" Cersei did not seem very romantically inclined on this day, something that was happening more and more often between the two.

"Screw father, We've been defying him since my first bloody erection" Jaime said jokingly, leaning his head back in a pleading manner, his golden locks rearranging themselves every time he moved his head drastically.

"A quick one then" Cersei muttered, dragging Jaime along towards the unknown.

A smirk spread across Jaime Lannister's face as the two paced towards the forest line.

The smile of a man that always got what he wanted.


	4. Chapter Four - Eddard Stark II

Chapter Four - Eddard Stark

It was late in the afternoon, the sound of birds and wildlife frolicking in nearby forests spread throughout Winterfell, and into Eddard's chambers. The sun was about to kiss the horizon, setting a gloomy mood inside the dimly lit room. Eddard ran his gloved hand across his cheek, his beard resisting the smooth motion ever so slightly. The raven had come early this morning, with the warmer winds from down south, but even now Eddard was re-reading the piece of paper as his mind raced.

Mace Tyrell had called upon a once in a decade tournament to be hosted in Highgarden, inviting any house of at least minor importance. Eddard's eyes flickered across the message again, considering just what it meant to him.

_Why?_

As Eddard thought he heard the sound of swords clashing, most likely Jon and Robb out in the courtyard, practicing intensely. If Eddard decided to accept, he'd most likely be forced to bring somebody to represent house Stark.

_But who?_

Jon and Robb weren't nearly good enough to compete against the more experienced knights, but they could participate none the less. Eddard needed a skilled swordsman, one that could at least make the quarter finals - all else would be a mockery of the north.

Many names ran through Eddard's head, excluding himself naturally - he did not fight in tournaments. The scroll did encourage lords of higher standing to fight.

_Hrm._

Jon Umber. Greatjon as they called him, was a fierce warrior, perhaps one of the best chances Eddard had at representing the north. Jon Umber would without a doubt refuse to fight for house Stark, he would only fight for Umber in a tournament - but he could be a good combatant for the north.  
Eddard started scribbling the message onto a smaller piece of parchment, his handwriting barely any good. Eddard encouraged Jon Umber to fight for the north, and reminded him several times in the scroll exactly what kind of men he would be fighting.

_Southern pansies_

Eddard smiled to himself, sealing the scroll and letting it rest on the table.

_I could let Jon and Robb enter the tournament - I doubt they'll make it past qualifiers._

Eddard didn't like the idea, knowing that men like Jaime Lannister would take great pleasure in humiliating his son - especially now that he couldn't fight Eddard himself. Eddard disliked Jaime greatly, he was a dishonest man - a self centered man.

The door on the opposite side of the table creaked open, and Nelly stuck her head in awkwardly.

"Supper is served within the half hour my lord".  
Eddard nodded "Thank you Nelly" he did not look up at her.

Nelly closed the door as silently as she could, and moved along.

Eddard grunted in annoyance and picked out a slightly larger piece of parchment, dipping his quill once again - he began to write.

Mouthing the words silently as he wrote them, Eddard crafted his reply.

_I accept your invitation with joy. _

_The house of Stark will ride for Highgarden, and arrive before the next full moon. _

_It will be a pleasure to break bread and drink at your court once again._

_I will personally see to it, that only our best fighters are submitted._

_Eddard Stark _

Eddard sealed the scroll and sighed deeply, he did not enjoy the formalities surrounding a tournament - in fact, he did not enjoy tournaments at all. Eddard rose from his chair, leaving the quill in the holder next to the ink deposit.

Wearing hard boiled leather fitted with fur, Eddard was almost warm inside the walls of Winterfell, his trousers double layered with hog hide and wool. Eddard took the two scrolls and stretched before taking a look out of the window.

Fewer children were playing out in the streets of Winterfell this time of day.

_It must be time for supper._

Eddard strapped the massive cloak of fur over his broad shoulders, it almost touching the floor. He took Ice with him and headed for the door. As soon as Eddard emerged from his chambers, Arya came running past him in the corridor.

"Mind your step" Eddard reminded his daughter, smiling weakly at her.

"Always do!" Arya muttered loudly as she disappeared behind a wall, not turning back to face her father. Eddard walked towards the staircase, he had noticed that lately his sword had been heavier - his entire body had been heavier.

_I should tell Catelyn._

But Eddard Stark did not pay his weakened state any mind as he reached the staircase, for the smell of roast pig entered his nostrils. Eddard was always slightly cheery around supper, he enjoyed sitting with his family for a meal, almost more than anything.

Eddard made his way down towards the main hall. He descended the stairs slowly, having to lift Ice a little higher from the ground to avoid scraping. The stairway was dark, except for the torches mounted on the walls, it had always been like this - Eddard enjoyed the nostalgic value.

Stepping into the main hall, Eddard took in the earthy atmosphere that was always there, just before supper. He walked across, seeing his family, a few servants and some soldiers eating at different places in the hall - a smile spread on Eddard's face.

It was rare that everyone ate at the same time, in the same place - so Eddard took great pleasure in these nights. Eddard nodded at everyone at the table, exchanging greetings as he put Ice on the table next to him.

Eddard sat next to Catelyn, the food had not been served yet. On Catelyn's right side sat Sansa, and next to Sansa sat Robb. On the other side, opposite to Eddard sat Jon, then Arya and next to Arya, Rickon. Theon and Bran sat on opposites ends of the table, none of them were engaged in conversation.

"I've received a raven from Mace Tyrell, I think some of you will be excited about what he had to say" Eddard muttered with half a smile as he poured himself a mug of dark ale. Jon's eyes immediately shot to Eddard, he was always very interested in what he had to say.

Within a few seconds, all eyes were on Eddard.

"Highgarden is hosting a once in a decade tournament, inviting half the Seven Kingdoms."

Eddard could see the excitement in Jon's eyes, a rare sight.

"That sounds... Good" Catelyn assured Eddard, hesitating slightly, attempting to see how he himself felt about it.

"That _is_ good" Robb added, smirking widely as he leaned out to look at Eddard, foam from the ale above his lip.

"So what do you say, can we fight?" Robb inquired, looking between Eddard and Jon, insinuating that both of them would enter the qualifier.

Eddard calmly answered as he raised the mug to his lips.

"That depends, I'll probably have to see you perform first" Eddard said with smirk, gulping down long and hard on the ale.

Jon didn't speak, he just watched the conversation intensely, along with the other children.

"Say me and Jon have a spar after supper, winner qualifies for the qualifier" Robb said with a smile, he was always a very smiling young man - positive in general.

Eddard was quiet for a few seconds, then made eye contact with Jon.

A tiny smile spread across Jon's otherwise emotionless face "I'll spar".

Eddard nodded and took another sip of ale "Alright, after supper - we'll see about qualifying after".

Robb clenches his fist and threw a victorious punch into the air, but not in a dramatic fashion - it was discrete.

"Alright" he said with an excited tone of voice, and just as he did, the doors to the kitchen swung open. Five or so servants entered with different plates and arrangements of food, heading straight for the Stark family table.

Everyone cheered up, a few smiles immediately found their way around the table. Duck, pork, bread, soup and potatoes were placed amongst the Stark's - and plenty of it. Robb, Theon, Rickon, Arya and Bran were all over the food, their hands moving swiftly across the different platters. Catelyn, Sansa, Jon and Eddard were all relaxed, taking their time at picking the contents of their plate.

_Was it wise to inspire hope in the boys?_

_Probably not._

Eddard took a bite of the pork. Usually he'd just have answered them plainly, but for some reason he felt his judgment had been lacking strength lately - was he sick? He was feeling under the weather both physically and mentally, and he didn't like it.

He planted his fork in a duck breast and brought it to his plate, the juices filling the edges of his plate almost artistically so.

"So when are we going? And are we all going?" Catelyn asked as she cut a potato in half. Eddard chewed long and well on the duck, washing it down with more ale before answering.

"We'll ride out tomorrow, there are weeks of riding to Highgarden, we can reach the tournament before the first joust, the children could see Highgarden and formally introduce themselves" Eddard pointed out, pulling a few potatoes onto his plate.

"Theon, Bran, Rickon and Arya will stay at home and continue their studies with Maester Luwin, since they're all slacking" Eddard began chewing on the boiled potato, directing his gaze around the table.

The children started complaining, it turned into one big continuous rabble.

"I will not have it" Eddard mumbled with authority, and the children went quiet.

The atmosphere at the table was slightly pressed for a minute or two, but conversation between the many Stark's continued soon after.

"So what famous knight's will be there?" Robb asked.

"If the knight is known, or in any way important, I can imagine them being there" Eddard said, shifting his gaze to Robb as he chewed a slice of duck.

"Will Joffrey be there?" Sansa inquired, leaning out over the table to look at Eddard.

"Joffrey can't swing a sword for the life of him" Arya teased, smiling at Sansa.

"Shut up Arya, no one was talking to you" Sansa responded, obviously upset at her comment. Sansa looked back at Eddard, expecting a real answer.

"I don't know, but it's a possibility".

_Gods be good I hope he doesn't_

Eddard felt himself hope that Robert did not come, and for the first time in his life he felt there was awkwardness, perhaps almost hostility between the two. Eddard had refused Robert, and Robert had ridden for weeks just to ask him - and Eddard had done his friend wrong, he knew that.

"Alright, I'm done" Robb said, pushing his plate away from his side of the table, stretching his arms way above his head.

Jon nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still chewing on something.

"Hold on, I'm still eating" Eddard said.

"Go out and get ready, I'll finish my potatoes".

Jon and Robb rose from the table, both excited - but Robb more obviously so.

Eddard sat quietly and finished his potatoes as the table fell apart, Arya running away with Bran, Rickon and Theon going outside to see the fight. Sansa, Catelyn and Eddard continued eating.

Eddard felt uncomfortable for a second, knowing that Sansa had not been happy with his choices lately.

Eddard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing loudly. Catelyn looked at him, looking mildly worried. Eddard scratched his beard as he stood from the table.

"I'll go check on Robb and Jon" he muttered, Sansa and Catelyn following him with their eyes.

Eddard picked up his sword and ran his fingers through his hair, walking towards the courtyard.

Outside Jon and Robb had equipped themselves with training swords, measured and weighted as a regular sword. Robb had a smile on his face.

"You ready there Jon?"

Jon seemed a lot more calm and concentrated, although still expressing great desire to fight.

"Ready when you are".

Eddard nodded "Go on".

The two stood roughly fifteen feet apart, holding their swords high, ready to engage. They were both taught the same form, the same moves, the same technique - but in the heat of the moment, Jon showed great potential and intuition.

Eddard circled the boys, watching their footwork as the boys saw each other out. Eddard had always been a mediocre swordsman, with lordly training. Eddard was well aware that he wasn't on the large scale a good fighter, but he was capable against most knights. Jon had what Robb and Eddard did not have, talent.

The swords clashed, smashing against each other fiercely. Eddard could see as the boys fenced that they were significantly more eager in their fighting, more bold than when he had observed them from the tower.

Jon kept his composure, sticking to his training - he was staying defensive for now, waiting for Robb to slip up. Jon understood that it was more likely to fail during an attack, as in opening ones flank or legs - Eddard noticed this.

He could see Theon crouched down, explaining the fight to Rickon, moving his hands about to emphasize his words. Eddard did not like Theon, but he did not dislike him either - he was just there.

As Eddard looked away he saw from the corner of his eye, Jon advancing on Robb. Jon struck with such force and speed that Robb messed his footwork up, he was focusing too much on parrying. Jon took advantage and with a swing of his sword marked Robb.

Three marks win, that was the tournament rules, and that was the rules they usually practiced with. Eddard noticed that the sun had almost gone completely down, there was barely any light inside the courtyard, high walls keeping what sunlight was left out.

The boys clashed again in a high speed combination of blows, switching back and forth as the aggressor. They grimaced as they both were eager to qualify, Eddard could see the concentration in their eyes.

As Robb retracted his sword from a blow, Jon hit it so hard that it ripped out of his hand, falling to the ground - he then marked him gently on the chest. Robb seemed annoyed, but not at Jon - more in himself.

"Hold onto your sword, son" Eddard said with a smirk.

Robb smiled back as he knelt to pick the sword up from the mud.

Eddard did not call Jon son, not now, not ever.

_I wonder if Jon notices._

The boys started going at it again, and Eddard looked over to Theon and Rickon again. Theon continued to speak to Rickon, but Rickon was laughing and seemingly having a good time - that was all that mattered to Eddard.

"Argh!" Sounded Robb's voice as he slashed at Jon's chest, marking him roughly. Jon was visibly angry with himself for the mistake, but quickly got back in position.

"That's two to one, brother" Robb said, always a hint of enthusiasm in his words - he was hard to get down, even when losing.

Jon didn't attack initially, nor did he answer, he waited for Robb with a determined look in his almost black eyes.

The swords crossed over the heads of the two, connecting many times in succession to the first blow. The two swords connected once again, Jon gritting his teeth as the two pushed against each other. Robb swung boldly, Jon saw it coming and dodged it, returning the attack with a thrust to Robb's stomach area.

_That was the third mark._

Robb smiled.

"Well fought" he said as the two shook hands, slightly red in their cheeks. Jon looked at Eddard, and Eddard smiled - Jon returned the smile.

"Well done, both of you... Jon I'll see to it that you get to qualify" Eddard nodded at the two.  
Robb smiled at Jon "Go down there and beat Jaime Lannister, yeah?" he chuckled.

Jon shrugged with a smirk "He seemed pretty confident a few weeks ago, I saw him spar Rodrik - absolutely destroyed him".

Robb raised a brow "He beat Rodrik?" Jon answered with a nod.

"The man is gifted with a sword, but a coward and an oath breaker" Eddard said bluntly.

"Keep that in mind".

The boys both nodded "Naturally, a coward".

Eddard knew that boys somewhere in the back of their minds always respected raw achievement more than any words, he knew they admired Jaime Lannister's swordsmanship.

"Alright, clean yourselves up and get ready to ride out in the morning, I'm going to have these scrolls sent" Eddard nodded at both the boys, turning around to walk towards the tower where he knew Maester Luwin would be.

_I shouldn't have promised Jon a fight, he'll get frustrated if he loses._

Eddard sighed as he made his way through the dark courtyard, the sound of the forest all gone at this time of day. Jon wanted to fulfill his duties and become an honorable man more than anything else, he wanted the recognition he deserved from Eddard, he wanted to be a good son.

Eddard knew what Jon wanted, but he could never put the past behind him, he could never forget the circumstances under which Jon and him even knew each other. As long as Jon called Eddard father, he could not look him in the eyes with an honest smile.

Eddard climbed the steps of the tallest and largest tower, the steps cobblestone at first, then dark wood. One of the torches inside of the staircase towards the top of the tower had gone out, and it darkened the steps entirely, making Eddard take his time. Eddard could hear Master Luwin walking around up there, which made his efforts on the stairs that much more rewarding - he did not want to go looking for him.

As Eddard entered the room, he saw the old Maester enjoying a book by the candlelight, he turned his head as he heard the door creak. Eddard smiled at the Maester, getting a smile back immediately.

"My lord, a pleasure to have a visit from you this time of day - I presume you have something you need sent?".

Eddard nodded "And right you are".

He walked towards the table, resting Ice onto the tableside.

"Big scroll is for Mace Tyrell, small one for Jon Umber - Use the fastest ravens" Eddard placed the sealed scrolls on the dimly lit table, next to the book.

Maester Luwin nodded, his eyes kind.  
"I'll get it done immediately".

Eddard was about to leave.

_Oh wait._

"We'll ride out tomorrow for Highgarden, the smaller children will stay behind to catch up on their books. Don't go easy on them" Eddard nodded, realizing he had also forgot Ice, something he did not do very often, or perhaps ever.

_I must be sick._

Eddard walked over to pick his sword up, hauling it over his shoulder by habit as he left the room. Eddard made the walk down the stairs faster this time, he felt like getting back inside and spending some time with Catelyn.

_Gods I love that woman._

Eddard closed the door to the tower behind him, a cold breeze washing against his face as he entered the courtyard once again. It was time for Eddard to enjoy the rest of his evening, perhaps write up some more scrolls - but that was it.

Eddard walked back towards the hall, the cold intensifying the further he walked, as if it was stalking him - trying to talk to him.

Eddard pulled his cloak up close around himself, walking faster and faster towards the hall.

But Eddard Stark could not outrun the winds of winter. No man could.


	5. Chapter Five - Jon Snow

Chapter Five - Jon Snow

Jon's breath drew heavy as he rode in the broad gravel lane along with the rest of the Stark escort. The sunset filled the sky with deep colors of ruby, setting clouds ablaze as the colors stretched wide above the crowns of the trees. It was a warm evening, and it had gotten increasingly hotter over the last few weeks as they had made it down South. Jon was dressed in brown leather tunic, a grey wool shirt underneath, and every day that had gone by, he had regretted that choice more and more. Jon was the same person on the outside as he was back in Winterfell, but inside he felt a bubbling sensation of excitement, as he neared the tournament.

They rode in the forest, the little sunlight that was left piercing down between many lush leaves to bathe them with warmth. Jon had considered cutting his hair, the warmth down here simply too much of a burden, especially when one had to fight. Eddard, Catelyn and Sansa were travelling by carriage, Jon and Robb by horse - it had not been up for discussion. Fifty men rode in between the two carriages and supply wagons, all fitted with chainmail and dire wolf tabards. This was not the Stark element, it was warmer down here than any summer they had ever had up North.

Jon looked over at Robb, and even though he was not to fight, he could see the excitement on his face. Robb turned his head to Jon and they shared a brotherly smile, it was them sharing the excitement for deeds to come.

Turning a corner, as Jon rode vanguard with Robb, he saw the end of the forest appear in front of him, the trees suddenly stopping. As the Stark's made their way out of the forests, a landscape unfolded itself in front of Jon.

_By all that is holy._

Jon opened his eyes wide, the sight taking its toll as he felt the bubbling in his chest grow wilder and wilder. In front of the Stark's were a vast open array of fields, hundreds of thousands of golden roses stretching as far as the eye could see. Hills, large trees and small farmhouses scattered in between the fields of roses stretching on for miles upon miles. A few miles through the hills and grasslands, appeared what Jon thought to be Highgarden. A massive castle in white and light stones almost appearing to touch the clouds, but perhaps that was just Jon's imagination. The massive walls stretched in circles and numerous levels, towering over the smaller townships spread below. Fields of olive trees and melons were scattered below the walls, people and farm animals enjoying the peace of this great sight.

Jon was almost certain he felt his eyes water as the landscape lured him in, the beating in his chest becoming secondary. It was simply the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Jon briefly looked over at Robb, but he was too captivated to return the glare, his eyes locked on the marvel unfolding.

No matter what awaited them at the end of the gravel road, Jon knew that the journey had been worth it.

Jon rode closer, having passed through the many fields, greeting the townsfolk that came out to gaze upon the Stark's. There was a peace here in these fields, a peace Jon had been searching for - it had a feeling of home to it. For a moment, Jon Snow forgot the pines and the cold tundra of the North.

As they approached the main gate, Jon noticed how Eddard had mounted a horse and taken his place in front of the carriage. Eddard to Jon's surprise did not look as physically ill as he had up in Winterfell a month ago, but his eyes were perhaps even more lifeless.

Jon felt a moment of pity and worry for Eddard.

As the Stark's approached the main gate with the sound of wheels turning and horses trotting, Jon could not help but to greet the guards with a firm nod and a smile.

Eddard rode up in front, Ice dangling wildly from the side of the horse as he made his way to greet the guard.

"Open that gate!" A yell was heard from the guard on the left hand side, his chainmail light-grey and fitted with a green tabard. He was equipped with a tall pike and a shield, colored green. The gate was tall and broad, built from what Jon could only guess to be metal. Roses and stories were engraved in the metal, beautifully so.

_This place is amazing._

Jon smiled as the massive chains allowed the gate to spread itself in half for them, settling itself next to the massive towers above them. Eddard paced his horse slowly inside, the rest of the Starks following him. They rode for half an hour through the streets and levels of the inner keep. Thousands of people peering at them from the inside of housings and taverns. The streets were of an almost white cobblestone, a little too clean for Jon's taste.

Vines and other plants hung freely from walls, draping and entangling themselves around structures. Plants and flowers were everywhere, and with the sound of running fountains always treating Jon's ear, he could not help to feel that this place was alive.

The flutes blasted their beautiful song of summer through the streets, travelling unconditionally, bringing the place an atmosphere of eternal summer - a dream Jon knew could not be true. They approached the highest level, and as they neared the gate of crossed metal bars, it lifted itself, welcoming them to Highgarden.

_The Southerners live extravagant lifestyles._

Eddard rode first, then Robb, then Jon. As carriages and horses made their way into the courtyard, the many Tyrell's were awaiting them with warm smiles and an army of servants. They stood neatly in lines around the area of arrival, hands folded - eager to get working.

A fat man with a hearty smile and long brown curls awaited them front and center, a man whom Jon could only presume to be Mace Tyrell. His faced was handsome, but surrounded by fat and sweat, a small triangular beard settling at the end of his first chin.

"Lord Stark, my good man" sounded the cheery voice from the man, and Eddard engaged him in more subtle conversation - outside of Jon's ear reach.

Behind Mace Tyrell stood his children, Loras, Garlan, Willas and Margaery. Jon thought of Margaery as very pretty, but did not want to stare.

_That must be Willas._

Jon thought as the older looking brother stood with a crutch along his side, crippled. He was heir to Highgarden, a very smart man - Jon had heard.

_That's Ser Loras._

The handsome young knight with long wavy hair lived up to the rumors, and the smirk across his face confirmed Jon's suspicion.

The last brother was the one Jon had heard least about. Garlan Tyrell was apparently not much for public display, glory or attention in any shape or form. Eddard had told him that the man was an artist with a sword in hand, but did not compete in tournaments. Garlan was tall and broad, his hair long and curly, but slightly darker than Loras'. He sported a thick beard, covering his entire jaw.

Sansa and Catelyn had made their way over to the nobles of Highgarden, greeting them with smiles upon their faces, and Robb too. Jon realized that he was supposed to be doing the same and unsaddled himself roughly. He walked at a brisk pace towards Eddard and awaited for him to introduce him.

Eddard was still talking to Mace, but after a few more laughs he finally turned his attention to his family.

"My wife, Catelyn" Eddard said.

"My son, Robb" Eddard said proudly, exhibiting the handsome young man at his right.

"This is Sansa, my daughter" Sansa curtsied with a smile, her eyes locked on Ser Loras.

"This is my other boy, Jon Snow".

It ached for Jon to hear Eddard speak of him this way, but it was the only proper way to introduce him, he knew. Jon put on a broad smile and stepped up to Eddard's left hand side, shaking the hand of several Tyrell's. As Jon's hand came to Margaery's he felt slightly weaker at the knees. Her touch was soft against Jon's her thin fingers wrapping themselves around his hand. Jon made eye contact and felt himself get warmer as they starred at each other. She had big brown eyes, and they did not look at him as a lesser person, she did not look at him as a bastard. It was mildly unsettling for Jon to be in the presence of beautiful women, he did not know exactly how to act upon any contact.

_Let go of my hand._

Jon thought to himself, Margaery insisting on holding it for a bit longer, most likely to tease him. Jon did nothing to pull his hand, he would consider that extremely rude. At last Margaery let go of the hand and turned her gaze to Sansa whom was next in line for a greeting.

Jon felt the heat leave his cheeks as the Stark's followed Mace Tyrell into the castle, the gate opened by two tall guards dressed in plate. Jon followed the many nobles, walking slightly outside of the gathering. He did not feel at home there, and he felt a need to play his part - as a man on the side. Jon was there to fight, and Jon was thankful.

They entered a hall, green rugs and decorations spread across the white marble floors, the stone slabs beautifully filling the cornering as pillars towered above the party of nobles. Everything was white and green in here, the walls and floor was white, the banners and guards green.

Jon enjoyed the sight, but was currently more focused on his behavior, he did not want to disappoint Eddard. Jon swept his black wavy hair back, his fingers gloveless at last. The thought of Margaery Tyrell kept reappearing in the back of his head, her eyes had done something to him. She wasn't just pretty, she was warm and welcoming - something else.

Jon followed the chatty nobles, they were laughing and sharing stories as they roamed the early corridors of the keep. Jon overheard the word "Kingslayer" being spoken, and it peaked his interest, so he eaves dropped as they walked.

"The king is regrettably not coming, he had fallen ill with something back in the capital" Mace Tyrell muttered, his voice not as cheerful anymore.

"House Lannister, house Arryn, house Martell and house Baratheon have all submitted a promising batch of combatants though, so there is a great event in store" Mace continued.

"There was even a single ship from the Iron Isles that arrived this morning, they had sent a fighter in their name too".

"But as I've mentioned before, this will truly be a clash of classes - as in, we have simple hedge-knight's and bastards competing against heroes".

Jon could not see Eddard's face, but he was sure that he wasn't as excited about the Greyjoy combatant entering.

"The tournament will include archery, jousting, regular combat, no shield combats and even a mounted archery duel. The entire thing will be over the next two coming weeks, plenty of time for any low born to fight his way into the higher tables" Mace Tyrell smiled widely.

The thought of fighting for the North, for his father excited Jon beyond belief, and motivated him. Jon walked after the Tyrell and Stark gathering for many more corridors and many more halls before a room was assigned to him. Jon had his very own chambers in the vast space that was Highgarden.

Eddard had smiled at Jon and allowed him to depart the tour in return for some sleep, it was after all late, and Jon had to qualify for the tournament - he had to fight a stranger tomorrow.

As far as Jon understood, the combat segment of the tournament was structured as any other tournament. One qualified through a public, or private match. Jon was here to sleep, but he doubted that he was going to be able to.

He removed his riding boots and his outfit, left with only a thin woolen shirt and his smallclothes. Jon Snow felt immense excitement and pressure constantly resting upon him, almost in a physical fashion. He sat down in the room, letting his eyes roam.

The room had a high ceiling, wooden floorboards and a balcony. The bed was for two, a large wooden frame almost reaching the ceiling, fitted with green drapes. There were platters of fruit and nuts around on the tables, wine jugs and cups aligned beautifully next to a massive bookcase. Jon refused to believe this room was for him, but then again - Highgarden was massive.

Jon stepped barefoot out towards the balcony, his eyes feasting once more at the sights that surrounded Highgarden. He considered drinking wine, but as he was nervous about having to move, he did not. Jon rested his hands on the warm limestone that made up the decorated balcony railing. The sun was gone, and only the moon lit up the countryside, but sufficiently enough so that Jon could see small bits. A shallow creek running with water as blue as the flowers he had seen earlier, small rocks and logs spread across as grass surrounded the water source. No matter how bad ones mood was, there would always be a dampening to that anger, and it was this setting.

Oaks and berry bushes stretched beyond the miles of fields, creating a more natural look to the outskirts of the grasslands. Jon could hear the voice of a boy singing in the courtyard at least a hundred feet below him. Flutes accompanied his voice, and it was beautiful.

As stars covered the sky, Jon decided it was time to lay himself to rest. He removed what remained of his daily outfit and slipped into the silky covers of his bed. The bedding was so marvelous that Jon felt the pain in his back and rear disappear. Never had a ride strained his muscles so harshly, but he did not care, not now.

Jon Snow fell asleep with the sound of summer running through his ears, and the eyes of a beautiful southern woman stuck on his mind.

Early was the morning hour as the sound of birds chipping and people speaking woke Jon Snow. Jon rolled out of bed and dressed himself as swiftly as his slightly dazed body would allow. It was very warm this morning, something Jon was not used to - he had even thrown his covers to the foot of the bed in the night. Jon put his hands on his sword belt, fastening it around his waist securely. Strangely, most of the pressure and excitement for today was gone, he was very focused. His dark beady eyes roamed the room as he looked for his cloak, he found it behind the bed.

Jon always assumed that he was late, so he rushed out into the corridor, his hair wild. A simple looking woman met him as he turned a corner, smiling at him.

"You must be a Stark, M'lord".

Jon was confused for a second, but managed to mutter.

"I am no Stark, I'm Eddard Stark's bastard".

The servant nodded "Oh".

The conversation paused until Jon opened his mouth awkwardly.

"Could you direct me towards the dining hall?".

The woman nodded and beckoned Jon Snow to follow her.

Jon smiled "Thank you" and followed the woman back from where she came. Jon was not very sociable, he was reserved. Jon had a harder time talking to women, not having spent much time with them, except for Arya, but she was barely a girl.

The servant took Jon through many stairways and corridors, even through a small kitchen before finally arriving at the dining hall. The servant nodded with a nervous smile and scurried off before Jon could thank her.

Jon stood in the massive doorway to the hall, tall enough to fit a trebuchet through, and wide enough for ten men to walk side by side, without a problem. He had a dumbfounded look on his face as he inspected the vast room. Half a hundred tables were lined up with servants and guards eating, all enjoying breakfast at a turn, and further into the room on a slightly raised pedestal sat many nobles.

Jon Snow walked through the many smaller wooden tables with his sword by his side, drawing many looks as he arrived alone, armored up and with red cheeks. The noble table was long as the room itself, at least able to seat a hundred or more people, and it was nearly filled. Jon could see Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Kevan Lannister. Jon could see Dornish men and women breaking bread, he could see a single man with the Greyjoy sigil proudly worn on his tabard, and many, many more. Jon spotted Ser Loras and Lady Margaery eating side by side at the right side of the table, and across from them sat Robb alone. The rest of the Stark family was nowhere to be seen, but Jon presumed that they already had eaten.

Jon swept his hair backwards and took a deep breath as he neared Robb. A broad fellow made room for him as Jon humbly requested a seat next to Robb. Benches were fitted below the decorated mahogany table, stretching further than any bench Jon had seen. The table was filled with meats, grains and any food item one could imagine having for breakfast. Robb smiled, his eyes a welcome sight in this morning chaos.

Jon briefly made eye contact with a few of the surrounding nobles, drawing many eyes as he sat down. Lady Margaery glared at the bastard with a mysterious smirk on her face, Ser Loras busy with his bacon.

"Good morning brother" Jon muttered as he adjusted to his new seat. Robb patted him on the back with a wide and cheerful smile on his slightly more mature face.

"Get some food in you, your qualifier is around noon, and I've heard from Ser Loras that you're facing a certain Asel Bushy" Ser Loras briefly looked up from his plate, nodding at Robb's words.

As Robb spoke the name of the knight, he mumbled in a southern accent, joking at the peculiar name. Jon smiled at Robb.

Robb never ceased to amuse and lighten Jon's mood, and at the same time he was capable of taking great responsibility, and for a given period of time be very grown up. Jon could feel Lady Margaery's eyes sometimes resting on him. He extended his hands to fill his plate with foods, but it ended up less diverse than it could've - Jon preferred to eat things he knew.

Biting into a piece of crispy bacon, he turned his eyes upon Robb.

"This man that I'm fighting, do we know anything about him?" Jon's voice low and calm.

Robb shrugged lightly, looking over at Ser Loras.

"He's a knight, fully trained" Ser Loras looked busier eating his bread than talking to the two, he appeared to Jon as a very self centered man.

Robb looked back at Jon with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

"Think you can beat him, aye Jon?".

Jon tilted his head, expressing that he did not know. "We're going to have to see".

"Aren't you a little young to fight in a tournament?" A soft voice sounded. The kind of voice Jon would suspect a fair maiden in a song to have, it reminded him of Sansa's voice.

Jon looked up and found Lady Margaery looking at him, her eyes not nearly as intrigued as they were before, they were more questioning - although still captivating.

"I was merely lucky to have the chance, my lady" Jon spoke humbly as he sipped a glass of goat milk.

Robb snorted, giving out a short laughter. He leaned in over the table and pointed to Jon, looking at Margaery at the same time.

"My brother beat me in a fair fight to qualify, it was not mere bloody luck that sent him here - he deserves it... Aye Jon?" Robb turned back, tapping Jon lightly on the shoulder.

"If you say so Robb" Jon muttered, slightly flattered.

"I see, you must be good with a sword then" Lady Margaery muttered as she placed a grape between her lips, only to eat it a second after. Her eyes fixed on Jon.

Jon found it unnerving to receive this kind of attention, but somehow the words found their way out of his mouth.

"Apparently good enough to compete down here" Jon felt immediately that he had said something wrong. These were not the words of Jon Snow.

Robb and Ser Loras both started laughing at the cheeky comment, Robb even slapping his thighs as chuckles spread in the nearby nobles. Jon smirked, he felt that if he had not, the joke would've been wasted upon Margaery.

Margaery sent him a smile back, and with a nod continued to eat her breakfast.

"That confidence and attitude will either take you very far, or into the ground" Ser Loras muttered as he finished his cup of milk.

"We'll find out later, I guess" Ser Loras smiled as he left. He was a confident man, Jon knew that, he could tell.

Robb followed Ser Loras with his eyes as he left, then looked back at Jon.

Jon chewed down on the last hardboiled egg and wiped his mouth with a napkin embroided with green flowers. It was time for him to practice.

Robb and Jon both left the table with full bellies, and heads held high.

"Let's practice aye?" Robb said with a smile, padding Jon on the shoulder as he lead him back towards the doorway.

Jon Snow had a long day ahead of him, and further more - he had to qualify.


	6. Chapter Six - Tyrion Lannister

Chapter Six - Tyrion Lannister

The tournament site had been built just shy of a mile from the outer walls of Highgarden. Massive oaks and narrow creeks were many out here. Berries along with fruits grew in the surrounding areas, and birds were chipping away as they would on a late summer day.

The tournament site was the size of a smaller village. A jousting area, a sparring area and an archery range had been built, and along with them, massive bleachers that could easily seat hundreds upon hundreds of nobles. The different areas were separated by housing, and of what importance the said house had.

Tyrion Lannister sat amongst his father, his uncle and his brother, whom had just returned from a combat on the other side of the tournament site. Small paths were built in between the many locations, and food vendors and circus' were all placed randomly in between the main attractions.

Tyrion pursed his lips as another knight collided with his opponent out on the track. Bringing the cup of sweet wine to his lips, he turned his head to Jaime. Jaime was still dressed in the under clothes of his armor, leather and belt straps covering him widely.

"So where exactly are you in the tournament now brother?" Tyrion asked, placing his cup on the table in front of him. The table held four cups, and three jugs.

"I've beaten Ser Mark Bernut, so that brings me just one fight from the quarter final" Jaime informed him as he poured himself a cup. Just having arrived from the fight, Jaime had sweat running down the sides of his face, his hair swept back in a muddy fashion - he was quite filthy. Jaime did not seem to care all too much about the festivities, he enjoyed the fighting - but seeing as he was away from Cersei, his mood was not great.

Tyrion nodded and drank once again, feeling the warm liquid drizzle into his throat, slowly weakening his senses, sip by sip.

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at the two knight's.

"Who's jousting now?" Tyrion asked, briefly looking over at Jaime, whom was still settling into his seat.

"That's Ser Loras and Victarion Greyjoy, should be quite a marvel as the Greyjoy doesn't joust regularly" Jaime smirked.

"So he's blatantly going to lose?" Tyrion inquired,.

"He's going to get knocked flat on his arse" Jaime emptied his cup.

"The man is dumb as a door, but quite capable with his axe" Sounded the deeper voice of Kevan Lannister on Tyrion's left.

"I'm quite confident that Jaime can take him" Tyrion murmured, biting down on a piece of cheese as brought to him by a servant.

"Don't you think you could?" Tyrion looked over at the still filthy man that was his brother.

"I think Victarion Greyjoy is going to get disqualified, men like him have no head for combats, he is a warrior - not a sparring partner" Jaime sipped his cup.

There was silence on the Lannister bench.

Tyrion edged himself off the bench and with a sigh filled his cup again, turning towards Jaime.

"I'm going to take a look around, horses bore me" Tyrion said with a snort as he passed his brother.

Tyrion made his way through the many nobles enjoying the tournament. Eyes were always on him no matter where he was, he was well known across Westeros. Tyrion saw many known faces, Margaery Tyrell, Renly Baratheon - even Stannis Baratheon had found himself in the bleachers with a cup of wine.

Tyrion left the jousting area, walking down a cobbled path towards the combat arena. He enjoyed the intensity swords offered which was a great deal more than jousting. The grass was perfectly cut, filled with small yellow and red flowers that spread across the meadows. There was a gentle breeze, blowing just enough to make the leaves of the great oak shuffle around. Tyrion walked past two Tyrell guards, fitted in full plate.

_If this place gets more boring..._

Tyrion entered the arena, climbing the steps up towards the bleachers. Just as Tyrion made it to the first bench, he saw Catelyn and Eddard Stark enjoying the fights, side by side. Tyrion did not want to intrude on them, they had not seemed to like him all that much at his visit in Winterfell. Tyrion walked past them, steering close to Eddard's back as he made it to another bench.

Tyrion scratched his nose, finally finding a seat. He placed himself in his seat and directed his eyes upon the circular pit below the bleachers.

The arena was a tall structure, allowing at least two hundred nobles to sit in a circle around the two opponents. The pit itself was surrounded with large logs, an entrance that lead out towards a gathering of tents - Tyrion presumed it to be where they prepared.

The floor was fine white stone slabs, but after the many fights that had already taken place, they were slightly dirty. Blood and mud was dragged in weak traces around the stone, and it appeared that cuts had been made in the surrounding logs.

Tyrion wondered just how violent a duel could get.

_They weren't allowed to draw blood..._

_Were they?_

There was a knight already in there, it appeared as if he was awaiting an opponent. His armor was a thin layer of chainmail, his body mostly draped in exotic looking leathers. The man had a Dornish tabard, and a helmet with a complete visor. A long ponytail extended from the top of the helmet, snaking its way down behind the man's back.

He wasn't a big man, but what got Tyrion's attention was the fact that he fought with a spear instead of a sword.

_That must be a Dornish knight... How exciting._

Tyrion sipped his wine.

Suddenly Tyrion noticed a huge man walking through the many nobles leaving and entering the arena. Dressed in light-grey and blue armor, wearing a blue tabard - this huge person made his way towards the arena. He was fitted with a long and decorative sword.

_That Dornishmen is going to be squashed._

People settled in their seats, and on a smaller podium amongst the many seats stood a man dressed in common noble clothing. The man tapped a gavel into a wooden table and yelled.

"Your attention please!"

"This is one of eight matches for qualifying for the quarter-finals! The man in orange - Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, is to face Brienne of Tarth! ".

_A prince? Fighting in simple combat? Unheard of. _

Tyrion knew Oberyn Martell by name, he had heard of him from his father - a strong warrior and a striking personality is as much as he'd gathered.

"There will be no attempts at crippling or otherwise maiming your opponent. The first combatant to reach three marks that would otherwise draw blood or futherly disable the opponent, will take the victory!".

"I would wish for you to make an effort not to draw blood! Begin!".

_Brienne... Isn't that a woman's name? Can't be..._

Tyrion pondered as the large person dressed in blue circled the smaller prince.

Prince Oberyn immediately advanced, his movements smooth and controlled beyond anything Tyrion had seen. His stabs and swipes with the spear were very fast and his fighting style in general appeared exotic. Tyrion leaned forwards in his seat, intrigued.

The knight in blue had a solid fighting style, defensive and careful, waiting for a slip up. They both looked skillful , but in different ways.

The almost snake or lizard-like footwork of Prince Oberyn was queer to Tyrion, and he considered shortly how unnerving it must've been for the knight in blue to face something this different.

There was a hefty applause as Prince Oberyn gave the knight the first mark, sliding the spearhead across the shoulder pad in a returned jab.

The blue knight did not falter - the person kept their composure and did not strike out of form. The two fenced back and forth, close calls were had every now and then.

Tyrion could even though not a fighter himself - determine that Prince Oberyn was a very aggressive and intense fighter, he was always moving and dodging blows in favor of blocking.

Prince Oberyn marked Brienne once again, this time with a swipe to the temple, sending the large knight to her knees.

_That man is an artist._

Prince Oberyn circled around, waving to a few nobles in the crowd before turning towards his opponent.

Brienne got up once again, this time working her footing differently, holding her sword at a different angle.

Tyrion had never been this intrigued by fighting, he never knew that he could enjoy it in this way. He ran his hand across his slightly scruffy cheek, eyes pinned on the fight.

Suddenly Tyrion was distracted by someone pulling on his sleeve. Angrily turning his head, Tyrion found himself staring into his brothers eyes.

"Father wants to talk, it's important" Jaime almost whispered as he bowed down to speak into Tyrion's ear.

Tyrion raised his brow. Grunting Tyrion leapt off the bench, he was annoyed.

"Is he sure? This fight is bloody amazing - the Dornish prince is freak" Tyrion muttered as he was almost dragged by Jaime.

"You know father" Jaime muttered as the two made it out of the arena to the sound of steel connecting and crowds cheering.

Jaime lead Tyrion not back towards the jousting area, but towards a Lannister tent that had been pitched somewhere in between the arena and Highgarden.

Upon entry, Tyrion found his father with his hands firmly placed on a table, a piece of parchment between them.

Tyrion's eyes met with his father's - never a pleasant moment.

_Gods be good, something is wrong._

Tyrion could see it in his father's eyes, he appeared furious.

"Sit down" Tywin muttered, his voice commanding.

As Tyrion and Jaime took seats at the table, Kevan Lannister walked over to close the flaps of the tent, giving them privacy. There were no guards present in the tent, only the four. Tywin slipped the piece of parchment across the desk towards Tyrion.

Tyrion furrowed his brows as he put a finger on the scroll, pulling it closer.

He read the scroll, his face expressing wild surprise and discomfort.

"Pass it to Jaime when you're done".

Tyrion did not want to pass it to Jaime, knowing how he'd react.

Tyrion read it again, trying to think - this was too much to handle. There was total silence in the tent.

Tyrion read the first line once again.

Tyrion slowly slipped the note across the table towards Jaime.

Jaime's face changed as his eyes roamed the words. He looked at Tyrion, then at Tywin.  
"Jaime..." Tyrion muttered, very nervous at how he might react.

Jaime looked at Tywin.

"I'm riding for King's Landing" He slowly got out of his seat, his motions very calm - but Tyrion knew that this was the worst scenario for Jaime, he was furious.

There was total silence in the tent, Tyrion sitting nervously, awaiting the next move. Tywin placed his palms calmly on the table, looking like he was about to explode in a rage.

"If this is true..." Tywin said slowly, his eyes flickering between his brother and his two sons.

"We've got very little time to act" he walked along the table towards Tyrion, putting a hand on the back of his chair.

"You will stay in Highgarden and represent House Lannister, and nothing more. We will ride to King's Landing and sort your sisters problems". Tywin looked over towards Jaime "In a civil fashion".

Jaime shot out of his chair and walked out of the tent at a brisk pace, soon followed by Kevan and Tywin.

Tyrion heard his father's commanding voice shouting at Lannister men outside to prepare their horses.

The words kept echoing through Tyrion's head.

_"Cersei Lannister has been put on trial..." _

Tyrion gulped and pulled the parchment closer, reading it again.

It was true, Cersei had been put on trial, and the odds were not in her favor.

Tyrion feared more for what Jaime might do, he loved him more than he could ever pretend to care about Cersei.

Standing he walked over to pour himself a cup of wine.

"Represent House Lannister..." he muttered to himself.

_Then that is what I shall do._

Tyrion folded the note with his free hand and placed it in his pocket, sipping the wine with his right hand. He appeared from the tent to find his father and his uncle in the midst of many guards, loading their horses.

It was the family name at stake, and the life of his only daughter.

_Who wouldn't be in a hurry?_

Tyrion walked back towards the arena, his heart beating like mad as the cheers of the crowd roared across the fields.

As Tyrion made his way down a cobbled path, he saw Eddard Stark's bastard standing at the entrance to the arena, fitted with chainmail and leathers, a sword in his hand.

_That is interesting..._

Just as Tyrion walked towards Jon Snow, he felt a drop of rain hit his forehead. He stopped to look upwards. Clouds had gathered above Highgarden, and it appeared as if a storm closed in.

Tyrion looked back, and in the time he had taken to look to the sky, the bastard had entered the arena. Someone was standing in there, someone with an oddly shaped helmet, but Tyrion could not quite make out the man as Jon Snow blocked his view.

Tyrion thought briefly about leaving the tournament site due to the rain, but he decided to stay for this fight, and then call it a day.

Tyrion emptied his cup, many thoughts bashing the insides of his head.

He didn't feel particularly interested in this fight, but he needed something to distract him from the fact that his family name was being denounced by the Iron Throne.

Tyrion threw the cup into the grass and clenched his little hand, he took up a walk towards the arena, a thousand things on the little man's mind.


	7. Chapter Seven - Cersei Lannister

Chapter Seven - Cersei

The almost black iron chains around her wrists were heavy, almost to the point of scraping against her skin. Cersei felt weak, and after spending over a week in that cell - she was right to do so. Her hair was tangled and dirty, her clothing was improper.

"Get the first bloody witness onto the stand!" Sounded the booming voice of King Robert.

Cersei slowly peered upwards, making eye contact with her husband as he sat on the Iron Throne. His eyes were unforgiving.

"The crown calls its first witness! Ser Barristan Selmy, please take the stand" Sounded the voice of Grand Maester Pycelle.

_Rotten swine._

Cersei could barely contain the strong emotions of hatred that she had towards all the men in the hall. Her face was void of emotion, her eyes fixed upon Robert with a hint of desperation.

_Where is father?_

Ser Barristan Selmy walked across the throne room, his long cloak dragging a foot behind him as he made his way up the stairs towards the podium.

_Father... Please._

All that Cersei could think of was her father, for he was the only man in the Seven Kingdom's capable of saving her now. Not a single thought of hers went to Jaime, she knew he was a kingdom away.

"Explain your discovery in full detail, would you please?" Pycelle asked upon Ser Barristan, taking his seat next to Robert.

"Me, Renly Baratheon and King Robert were about to embark on our monthly hunting trip, it was just a little more than a week ago. I was in charge of bringing sufficient wine, and in an unusual act of intuition, I brought a different skin than the one that had been set out for the king, leaving the one behind that his squire had prepared. We hunted and brought down a fat boar, everything went as expected, until upon our return we made a startling discovery. The skin of wine left behind had been consumed wholly by the kingsguard Ser Borus Blount, which resulted in his untimely passing. I immediately took the king's squire into custody and had him interrogated, which resulted in me making yet another startling discovery. Lancel Lannister informed me that the king's wine had been poisoned just sufficiently throughout the years, whenever he went hunting - I suspect to endanger his life. Consuming the entire skin of wine killed our unfortunate kingsguard, and led me to believe there was an ongoing conspiracy. Grand Maester Pycelle inspected the corpse and confirmed my suspicions of the poison, leading me back to Lancel Lannister. I questioned the boy personally over a few days and added to the list of startling discoveries. Lancel Lannister had been poisoning King Robert for years, at the command of Cersei Lannister - our queen. Upon further investigation I discovered that Lancel Lannister had been bedding the queen over a number of years as well, which leads me to believe that not only has Cersei Lannister attempted to usurp control of the Iron Throne through her cousin, but she has also produced illegitimate children for the kingdom - which was determined after further discussion with the king himself."

Cersei felt tears roll down her cheeks as the old man spoke. He wasn't right about Lancel fathering her children, but he had in the whole uncovered her plots.

_All this.. All this gone at the hands of a stupid little boy._

Cersei hated Lancel, she wished upon him a thousand stillborn children, and a lifetime of suffering. Cersei did not hear the words coming out of Ser Barristan's mouth anymore, it was too much to bare. All of these things that had been going on inside of her mind, all out in the open - it was surreal.

"What does the queen have to say in her defense?" sounded Pycelle's voice as Ser Barristan left the stand.

Cersei didn't speak at first, her anger and unfathomable frustration did not find its way to her lips. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her breathing uncontrollable.

"Nothing.." Cersei whispered, sobbing as she spoke.

"I have nothing".

Cersei had never been in trouble where she or her father could not handle it, but this was different. Cersei knew that as soon as Lancel took the stand, it would be over. Lancel would beg for his life and say whatever Robert wanted to hear, he would then take the black and live his life out at the wall.

There was nothing Cersei could do, it was over.

"The crown calls its next witness , Lancel Lannister to the stand!" Pycelle's voice sounded.

In came the shadow of the man Cersei knew as Lancel Lannister. He was beaten blue and bloody, his face not resembling anything that Cersei remembered. He took the stand with the help of a kingsguard, struggling to stand.

It wouldn't surprise Cersei if Robert had personally come down to beat the information out of the boy, Cersei was convinced that he'd take great pleasure in it.

Lancel started talking, and Cersei filtered most of it out, she could not stand it.

"I've fathered Cersei Lannister's illegitimate children, over many nights when she called me into her bed out of pure lust.

Cersei Lannister is a remorseless woman, I've only followed her command for so long, fearing for my own life.

She's been attempting to convince me to murder your grace over the last many years, with a knife or with poison, she did not care.

Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon are all Lannister children, and children of incest at that".

It sounded like he had rehearsed this speech with Robert himself, it was horrible. Cersei wished to the gods that she had the power to strike all these people down. Chattering and whispering constantly bugging her ear as every eye in the throne room was locked upon her.

_Father... Please._

She kept wishing for a happy ending, but even Tywin Lannister would have trouble getting Cersei out of this one, even her own father.

Lancel kept confessing, confessing to every word they wanted him to as long as he kept his miserable life. Cersei had no doubt father would have him killed afterwards.

"Enough!" Robert shouted, slamming his fist into the armrest of the Iron Throne so hard that the decorative hilt of one sword fell off.

"I've heard enough from all these blonde headed deceivers. The King's justice will be served here and now" His voice booming so violently that Cersei thought the windows to shatter.

She had never seen Robert's eyes this violently enraged, his entire face was red with madness.

"I will not stand for this kind of treason, not in my own home. Unless the accused has any other rotten lies to lop at the court, I will pass my judgment now!" Robert's voice sounded as he calmed himself back into his seat.

Grand Maester Pycelle, although looking frightened turned his head towards Cersei.

"Do you have anything to say in your defensive, Cersei Lannister?".

_Jaime... _

_Jamie will come to my rescue. _

For a brief moment of clarity, she saw a happy ending. Jaime would ride to the capital and strike down any man the crown would choose to fight him, and Cersei would ride off with him towards Casterly Rock. It was perfect, it was plausible.

"I demand..." Her voice broke as she sobbed weakly.

"I demand a trial by combat".

Several people gasped in the courtroom, many of the present nobles beginning to chatter and loudly discuss, yelling insults and accusations at Cersei.

Robert smiled as his large body sunk into the seat of the Iron Throne.

"Good, then you can get to watch your cunt brother die before your eyes, before I have your head removed!" Robert roared, his voice getting louder and louder, progressing into a scream as he finished his sentence.

"Take her back to that rotten cell!" Robert commanded, his face red as an apple and his voice as intimidating as ever.

Cersei broke into tears, Ser Barristan Selmy and another kingsguard taking a hold of her chains, leading her back towards the corridor. As she walked down between the bleachers filled with nobles, she heard multiple insults being shouted at her.

_Jaime please._

But it dawned upon Cersei Lannister that perhaps it was not wise to ask Jaime to fight, he might die.

_No... No.. I must live... He would die for me._

Cersei in her madness convinced herself that Jaime thought of her as more important, she came to terms with the fact that her brother would without second thought throw his life away for her. This calmed the sobbing Cersei, but her brief calm was an illusion provided by her desperation.

Ser Barristan Selmy dragged Cersei to the black cells, her feet dragging along the stone slabs of the Red Keep.

"If Jaime Lannister fights, he will die" Ser Barristan muttered.

Cersei did not answer.

"Your brother is a promising young man, he still has a long life ahead of him, I would not urge him to sacrifice himself for a lost cause like yourself".

Cersei managed to speak through her sobbing.

"What makes you think that Jaime will not kill the man Robert sends, what makes you so sure?".

Ser Barristan opened the door to Cersei's cell, throwing her inside violently. Cersei hit the floor with her face first, her hands flat on the moss covered stone.

"Because I'll be the one fighting your brother" Ser Barristan muttered harshly as he closed the cell-door loudly.

In that moment, Cersei Lannister felt the last shred of hope she had, fade away into nothing.


	8. Chapter Eight - Eddard Stark III

Chapter Eight - Eddard Stark

Eddard was running his hand through Catelyn's silky hair. Catelyn never ceased to surprise Eddard with how well she aged, it was truly magnificent. She had barely any noticeable wrinkles in her face, and the rest of her figure had remained beautiful just as well.

_Tonight is the night._

Eddard thought to himself. In a few minutes they'd have to get out of bed and get dressed, then dine with the Tyrell's. Mace had stopped Eddard earlier and pulled him aside to discuss certain matters in his chambers. Olenna Tyrell had been awaiting them both - Eddard found her very unsettling.

He hated politics in all shape and form, and it was truly dreadful having to listen to their endless proposal and plotting.

The Tyrell's had figured that with the trial of Cersei Lannister well underway, she and her children would if they lived be deported to Casterly Rock - leaving Robert without a wife or child. In the unlikely event of House Lannister raising their banners in response to an execution, there could be a civil war for the throne.

Eddard had very bluntly exclaimed that he stood by Robert no matter what, and to his surprise - the Tyrell's had the same intentions.

Olenna Tyrell had proposed to Eddard that they wed their daughters and sons. Her wish was to strengthen the bond between the two houses, at least that was what she told Eddard.

_Does she think I am daft?_

Olenna wanted Margaery married to Robb in the unlikely event of Eddard's death. If Margaery was in Winterfell, and married to its lord, it would be much easier to manipulate Robb. It was a risky decision, knowing that Olenna Tyrell would never arrange such a thing if it was not in her favor.

Mace Tyrell had to outweigh the positives and negatives proposed that a wedding between Ser Loras and Sansa could also be arranged. Eddard knew however that Ser Loras was third in line of succession, and he would be very unlikely to ever see lordship of Highgarden.

_These southerners..._

Eddard had always wished for Robb to marry a northern girl, and that was the way it was going to be - Sansa however, could perhaps be discussed.

It did not make sense to Eddard, all of this political intrigue that erupted as soon as any sign of conflict showed itself - it was entirely despicable.

"We should prepare ourselves" Catelyn muttered as she ran her hand across Eddard's chest.

"Aye.." Eddard mumbled, still in deep thought.

He was a wise and intelligent man, but he had lived his life out on the battlefield - not in a small council where all the stabbing goes on behind closed doors.

Eddard did not trust the Tyrell's enough to let one of them into his home, but it was about time for Sansa to marry, and Eddard knew that.

_At least she isn't going to marry that wee prick Joffrey... See how life turned out for him. _

Eddard thought as he began to dress himself in the exact clothing that had laid out for him. He put on a simple dark brown tunic with grey buttons down the torso. Eddard wore a lighter brown pair of trousers, his boots made of tanned leather. The sigil of house Stark was placed just above his heart, resting on the left side of his chest.

Catelyn was wearing a simple northern dress, a bit darker in the colors than most southern dresses - never the less, she looked beautiful. Eddard ran his fingers back through his long hair and with Catelyn departed their chambers.

Eddard walked with Catelyn by his arm, they were to dine privately tonight. It had been one and a half week of jousts and combats, and soon it was time to go home. The southern lords always had a purpose with these arrangements, there was never any pure friendly intention - it was all rotten in Eddard's eyes.

_Gods I can't stand that woman. _

_Olenna Tyrell._

Eddard had her figured out, she was a deceiver above all - no better than Cersei Lannister.  
Eddard and Catelyn arrived at a tall door decorated with roses - the wood light and handled with impressive care. The door opened from the inside and a friendly looking servant with a clean shaven face welcomed them.

Eddard nodded back at him with a humble smile, entering the room with the widest smile he could possibly fake. The room had a tall ceiling, everything made of the light cobblestone that the rest of the castle sported. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating everything beautifully. To Eddard's left was a balcony of limestone overlooking Highgarden, in front of him a massive table. The rug underneath them was green and gold, the table dark mahogany carved also with flowers.

_Certainly a decorative people..._

Eddard approached and greeted everyone accordingly. The table where the two families sat offered five seats on each side. On the Stark side sat Eddard with Catelyn on his left towards the balcony, and Robb and Sansa to his right. Directly across from Robb sat Margaery, and across Sansa sat Ser Loras.

The table was lined up with silverware and fancy plates. Eddard was not a man in favor of waste - and in his opinion, all this was waste. In the north, everything had a practical use, the objects exterior resembling how it looks - when most efficient. Eddard wasn't a rude man either, so he'd hardly ever voice an opinion that need not be said - he put a smile on and took a seat.

"Thank you for allowing us at your table, Lord Tyrell" Catelyn spoke thankfully, she had always been best at petty manners. The two double doors on the right hand side of the table swung open, and servants came walking in at a brisk pace, all carrying platters and bowls.

In front of Eddard Stark was placed a steaming bowl of rich lobster soup. Eddard had rarely had the pleasure of lobster, but he knew the smell. The soup was slightly creamy looking, with chunks of rich pieces of meat scattered in there. A light brown piece of southern flatbread was placed next to his soup.

This was the finest presenting of food Eddard had seen in a long time - highly unnecessary.

_Is he?_

A servant poured wine in one of three cups on the other side of his plate.

_He's pouring bloody wine._

Eddard did not want to drink, especially not southern wine.

_Do they not have dark ale?_

He looked about slightly annoyed, but it did not show in his face. He took the cup to his lips and sipped the sweet liquid. Eddard forced a smile to signal his enjoyment of the wine.

The soup was quite excellent, but Eddard had eaten his bowl before Olenna Tyrell had even started - although with manners, Eddard was a practical man. He did not slurp nor chew loudly, he was simply fast.

Robb had finished his bowl second, seemingly enjoying the pleasantries the south had to offer - his eyes noticeably roaming Margaery quite often.

_Who could blame him?_

She was a pretty young thing, but she reminded Eddard of her grandmother - which was not a redeeming quality.

"I am deeply sorry that Willas and Garlan could not join us for supper, apparently they are busy" Mace Tyrell muttered as he stirred the bread in his soup.

Eddard looked up from his bowl and nodded with an understanding smile.

"Younger lads have a lot of matters to attend, nobody can blame them" Eddard said, really not caring all too much about their presence.

"And your bastard? Has he recovered from his loss?... I must say he fought valiantly for his age - almost reaching the quarterfinals" Olenna Tyrell muttered, her tone of voice in one way or another always condescending.

Eddard cringed internally at her words.

"Jon is in his chambers - he took the loss hard... But that's hardly a pressing matter" Eddard said as he forced himself into another sip of the wine.

Olenna Tyrell smiled as she moved her cups to her lips.

"So... Lord Stark" Mace Tyrell washed down his bite of lobster with some wine before looking Eddard in the eyes.

"Have you considered our discussion?" Mace Tyrell muttered as he put the cup down.

Sansa and Robb both visibly eager to hear about the matter.

Eddard felt annoyance spread throughout his chest and head, all the way to his lips and eyes - almost showing.

_In front of __**them**__? Really now?_

Eddard looked up from his plate, keeping his eyes on Mace. Eddard noticed the slight hint of doubt that he instilled in Mace Tyrell by looking at him like this. Mace did not have the head for politics his mother did.

"I did not expect the matter being discussed over dinner, in the presence of my children". Eddard sipped his cup.

If there was one thing Eddard could do in politics, it was to be direct.

"But I've made a decision never the less" He placed the cup in front of him.

All eyes switched to him, the table went silent.

"Robb will not marry Margaery - I can simply not comply to that... I've already made promises that I have to honor" he could hear Robb switching in his chair, not understanding what exactly Eddard was saying. Robb was wise not to interrupt his father, he knew not to.

_Why did it have to be this way? Did these people think they could pressure me to make a rash decision? _

Olenna and Mace Tyrell both looked slightly puzzled, but they of course did not want to cause a fuzz, that would be highly inappropriate.

_Why does the old woman insist on me making a decision under these unorthodox circumstances?_

"I'm not entirely decided concerning Sansa, I simply have not had time to think it through yet" Eddard replied, his tone of voice slightly annoyed - he could not hide that.

The more Eddard had to sit at the table with these people, the more he regretted not taking Robert's offer and riding to King's landing. It was a rat's nest, but his dearest friend lived in it.

_Gods forbid I marry Sansa to that wee prick Joffrey -gods forbid._

Eddard cared too much about his children, he could simply not allow it.

"Naturally... But do remember that Sansa and Ser Loras' betrothal was originally a part of a deal that went both ways..." Mace Tyrell said, his hands calmly resting on the table.

"I've made my decision... Robb does not marry Margaery - if the other part of the offer stands, I will consider it" Eddard said, emptying his cup of wine.

The main course rolled in. Baked potatoes glistening with sauces, accompanied with slices of red beef, covered in herbs and sliced garlic. Wine was refilled and bread was offered. More platters were left out for anyone more hungry.

_I shouldn't have ridden south..._

Eddard was painfully reminded why he strongly preferred to stay up north. Politics bred dishonest and treacherous people, and politics were plenty down here.

Eddard could not wait to get out of his seat, strongly considering to leave he started cutting into the beef.

There was complete silence at the table, everyone but Eddard exchanging looks every now and then.

Dinner went on for minutes with casual talk, Eddard looming over his plate.

Eddard knew very well that Sansa's betrothal was nearing, and nearing fast. He would have to pick someone - and offers wouldn't keep rolling in. Eddard sipped his wine. Ser Loras would be a better pick than Joffrey, he would be an acceptable candidate.

Eddard questioned if the Tyrell's would allow that arrangement after Eddard had denied them his son - probably not.

Eddard wanted to pack up and leave tonight, but he knew that he was alone in that thought. The kids had never been down here before, they were most likely enjoying attention and new faces. Catelyn could be very sociable and well behaved, she had no problem.

_I'm going to have to make a decision._

Eddard sat through that gathering without saying anymore words of importance, he did not want to.

Standing Eddard shared a smile with everyone and wiped his mouth with the rose embroided tissue. Turning he walked over to open the door for his family. A guard opened the door just before Eddard could, nodding at him with a pleasant smile.

Robb thanked the guard and padded him on the shoulder, admiring the man's build and armor for a short second.

Eddard walked with Catelyn by his side, Sansa and Robb following close behind. They made it through most of the corridors silently, passing by guards and servants.

Sansa and Robb were aware that Eddard was irritated by this sort of behavior, so they did not try and speak to him. Sansa and Robb went to their respective chambers on the other side of the hallway, and Catelyn and Eddard entered theirs.

Eddard didn't say anything when he got in, he just started making the bed and undressing himself.

"You've not been yourself tonight, my dear" Catelyn's voice sounded, she walking over to close off the balcony.

"How can you expect me to behave amongst such terrible people" Eddard grunted as he removed his boots at the side of the bed.

Catelyn walked up behind Eddard and placed her palms on his shoulders, smiling.

"I know you'll make the right decision, but you also need to keep in mind that Sansa is a growing lady - this is what she wants" Catelyn followed Eddard as he sat at the side of the bed.

"She dreams of marrying someone handsome that will take care of her - she has no regard for power..." Catelyn kept speaking as Eddard quietly removed his trousers.

"Ser Loras is one of the most talented Knight's in the Seven Kingdom's, he will take good care of her" Catelyn spoke.

It was highly unusual to hear Catelyn speaking in favor of one of her girls leaving her .

"Her happiness depends on it".

Eddard didn't speak, he kept undressing himself. Catelyn and Eddard eased themselves into their massive bed with sighs, tired after a long day.

"I'll talk to Lord Tyrell tomorrow, gods forbid he brings his bloody mother" Eddard grunted whilst running his fingers through his hair, wiping his sweaty forehead.

Eddard truly disliked this place, and especially the people in it.

Eddard turned towards Catelyn, his fingers in her hair once more.

It was the only place that reminded him of home.


	9. Chapter Nine - Jaime Lannister II

Chapter Nine - Jaime Lannister

Jaime sat at the table with his palms covering his face. The last day had been an absolute nightmare. Little sleep, a lot of arguing and much chaos. Tywin had not been himself, upon discovering that Cersei had demanded a trial by combat, he retired to his chambers in anger. Not only was there nothing Tywin could do about it, he was positive his daughter had doomed herself. Tywin had spoken to Cersei, but only for so long.

_Seven hells._

Jaime removed his palms from his eyes, looking around in the dimly lit chamber. Tywin was stood with his hands behind his back, staring out of the window.

"Would you like to hear what your sister told me?" Tywin spoke with his calm and frighteningly deep voice.

Jaime did not answer.

"Your sister is accused of attempted murder, she has also conceived three bastard children that should rightfully go under the name Lannister - not Baratheon" Tywin spoke calmly.

"I am to believe that my nephew has fathered Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen of house Baratheon? The idea sounds absurd" Tywin turned around, his bloodshot eyes locked on Jaime.

"Your sister had me believe a different story entirely... You see" Tywin roamed the room, his hands running over all surfaces. Jaime had only seen Tywin behave like this once or twice, and usually it ended up with him having a fit of anger. Tywin was always in control of his emotions - nearly always.

"Cersei has in an attempt to invoke some sort of pity in me - lied about you being the father" Tywin locked his eyes on Jaime, trying to squeeze every ounce of information out of his body language.

"This situation could've been entirely avoided if your sister had not been an idiot - which I have come to terms with" Tywin sat down in front of Jaime.

"Cersei has chosen her own fate, there is nothing I can do for her as a father. What we must do is seek to preserve the family name" Tywin moved his hands about softly on the table.

"I've told you once, and I will tell you again - I will fight for her" Jaime muttered, his voice broken with emotional turbulence. This was the only time Jaime could remember weeping. It was the only thing in the world he loved - his sister.

"You will do no such thing" Tywin said calmly.

The two stared at each other.

"The three bastards are Lannister's, and we will treat them as such - we must bring them back to Casterly Rock and attempt to improve relations with the king over time".

"We could raise our-" Jaime muttered as he was interrupted.

"_No_, if we attempt any kind of resistance, Cersei will die and our house crushed under the boot of the drunkard we have for a king" Tywin said calmly as he scribbled something onto a piece of parchment.

"There is no salvation for Cersei, she has dug her own grave" Tywin calmly muttered as he kept writing.

_She is your daughter._

Jaime knew that Tywin was a very emotionally cold man, but to let his own daughter die in return for a better standing with the Iron Throne was madness. Tywin would then take her children afterwards and have them raised as Lannister's.

Jaime looked at his father with unforgiving eyes.

"Upon Cersei's execution, you, I , Kevan and the children will all be on our way west" Tywin finished the parchment.

"I don't suspect Lancel will be allowed to live, but if he does he'll be at the wall" Tywin sealed the scroll.

Jaime almost smirked, but he didn't have the strength to do so.

"What you don't seem to understand father... Is that I _will_ fight - and there is nothing you can do about it".

Tywin made eye contact with Jaime and shook his head at him in a nonchalant fashion.

"I'll work things out with the king in the morning - after that we ride west" Tywin folded his hands on the table.

Jaime stood, his face red with anger.

_How could he not care?_

Tywin was truly the man that people took him for, family above all - and in this case it meant letting one family member die to ensure survival of the rest.

Jaime turned around to leave.

"Oh, and I wouldn't attempt to interact with the king - who knows what he have to say about you... He is an unpredictable man" Tywin muttered as he walked to the window, fastening the parchment to a raven.

Jaime grunted at his words and headed out.

_I'm going to fight._

Jaime was not in doubt that he had a chance - Ser Barristan was good, but old. Jaime gritted his teeth, descending the staircase towards the dimly lit corridors - loud sounds of armor rattling following him. The golden cloak gracefully moving across the floor of the Red Keep as Jaime Lannister made his way down towards the black cells.

_Pathetic. _

A lot of emotions were filling Jaime. He rounded a few more corners and went down a flight of stairs before reaching a darker corridor. This was the way to the black cells, he had been there many times. Walking at a brisk pace with heavy, angry steps - he made the entire castle echo.

Jaime had not met with Cersei yet, he had not been allowed to. The torches lit up the poorly constructed walls making the place all the more creepy. Moisture and moss covering the insides of each cell in a nasty fashion. The doors were cold steel, at least five inches. Jaime had now reached the corridors that housed most of the worst criminals in King's Landing.

Jaime rounded a corner and was immediately met with the sight of Ser Barristan Selmy calmly posted outside of Cersei's cell.

Jaime gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath as the two made eye contact. Jaime walked over, not even trying to force a smile.

The two were more than friends, Ser Barristan Selmy had been with him in the kingsguard ever since Jaime started - he was his mentor, his friend. Ser Barristan Selmy was almost a fatherly figure.

"I'd like to see her" Jaime muttered silently, unfastening the belt holding his scabbard and sword.

Jaime removed the belt and sword and handed it to a suspicious looking Ser Barristan. Ser Barristan knew that Jaime would come for this visit, he had been told - but he held a hand on his own sword never the less.

Ser Barristan nodded respectfully to Jaime - the two men had a bond of unspoken respect. Ser Barristan slid the massive black door open, allowing light to enter the cell. Jaime took one of the torches, slipping it out of the holder on the wall.

"I'll bring it back" he muttered as he walked into the tiny cell.

_There she is._

But what met Jaime's eyes weren't the Cersei he remembered before leaving for Highgarden. It was not his sister.

Big dark rings had formed around her eyes, her skin wet with the contents of the cell. Her hair was wild and dirty, almost colored brown from all the filth in the cell. It smelled like excrement in the cell, and surely enough - Jaime's sense of smell was on point.

Cersei held her hands over her eyes, the torch burning too bright for her. She was sobbing and muttering uncontrollably. The black cells had a tendency to do this to people, at least when locked away for more than weeks at a time.

Jaime placed the torch in the holder on the wall and sat down on an elevation in the floor.

Jaime didn't know about Cersei attempting to have Robert murdered over all these years, but he did know that she was unpredictable and fierce. It was possible that she could've plotted it out with Lancel - but the bedding part was a lie.

_Right?_

Jaime felt terrible at the thought of Lancel bedding his sister.

"Sweet sister..." Jaime muttered very slowly.

Cersei's eyes were wild, examining Jaime with a look of fear.

Jaime extended his hand carefully, beckoning Cersei over.

"Jaime.." Cersei was visibly coming to her senses.

She rushed upwards, nearly tripping over the burlap sack clothing she was dressed in. Jaime caught her, settling her in an embrace. Cersei reeked more than any corpse Jaime had had the pleasure of smelling, it was horrid.

"Father told me you wouldn't fight" Cersei held Jaime tight, her voice sobbing desperately.

Jaime rubbed her back softly, pressing his forehead against hers, accepting her kisses.

"You'll be free in the morning" Jaime muttered, his fingers through her hair.

"We'll ride west and start a life - raise our children in solitude" Jaime's consolation was more for Cersei than himself - he didn't love the children.

Cersei was sobbing, but Jaime could not tell if it was tears of joy, or general sadness.

Jaime kept running his fingers through her hair, comforting her.

"There's nothing to fear - your life is safe in my hands" Jaime muttered, kissing Cersei almost in an act of comfort rather than passionate love. It was as if kissing a child's wound after they'd fallen and scraped their knee.

"I have to leave you here for another night, but soon we'll ride to Casterly Rock, and there we will be met with our children, awaiting their beloved mother" Jaime raised himself from the ground.

"I'll leave the torch in here for you" Jaime didn't like spending time with Cersei when she was in this state - he knew that she'd be free the very next day, and less filthy.

It was time to sleep, nothing could be worse than fighting for your life drowsy. Jaime walked towards the door.

"Oh... One more thing" he turned around.

"Did you tell father the truth? About the children...".

Cersei shook her head gently, her eyes wide.

"No... What are you talking about?" She questioned him, looking genuinely confused.

"Nothing... Forget it" Jaime squinted his eyes, thinking for a moment. He stopped at the door.

_Someone has been lying to me..._

But was it Cersei or Tywin? Jaime wondered as the door slid open, signaled by his tapping.

Jaime heard Cersei speaking to him as he left, a little too confused and angry to spend more time with her in the cells. He did not want to give Ser Barristan the pleasure of ordering him out.

Upon exit he was met with Ser Barristan's wise eyes. The cell door closed loudly, echoing throughout the narrow corridors.

"Jaime, if you fight tomorrow - you will die" Ser Barristan muttered passively, holding onto Jaime's sword.

Jaime didn't speak, he just reached out for the sword, but Ser Barristan did not allow him to take it.

"Your sister... The things they say about her... They are true" Ser Barristan genuinely did not seem happy or entertained at having to speak to Jaime about this topic.

Jaime violently put his hands on the sword, staring down the elderly man as he ripped it from his hands.

"She does not love you, like you love her" Almost a sense of regret and sadness in Ser Barristan's voice - he had great empathy for Jaime, it showed in his eyes.

_I should end you right here._

Jaime felt a surge of rage as Ser Barristan spoke words that cut deeper than any blade could.

Jaime fastened his sword belt, running his fingers through his hair frantically - a little madness in his eyes.

"Tomorrow when we step out into that square, I will in front of everybody officially retire you, old friend. I will make sure that you are relieved of your duties for the whole world to see, so go ahead and enjoy these hours of service - for they will be your last".

Jaime felt like bashing someone's skull in, his anger visible in his step as he turned around to leave Ser Barristan. Ser Barristan kept looking at Jaime with disappointed eyes during his rant, most likely hurt. It was extremely unlike Jaime to express emotion on this scale, but the circumstances were dire none the less. It was the worst situation for him to be in.

Jaime hurried himself up towards the Red Keep once more, his footsteps heavy and loud. Everyone was sleeping by now, the moon was high up in the night sky - frolicking amongst the stars. It was a beautiful and cold night in the capital, perfect for a walk.

Jaime entered the corridor leading towards his chambers, but as he opened the door he found every torch to have been extinguished. The corridor was left in complete darkness, Jaime's eyes not able to see more than a few feet ahead. Jaime walked back down the steps, violently ripping a torch from the wall, making his way back up towards the corridor.

_Useless servants can't even keep torches burning through the night._

Jaime walked across the broad and dark corridor, only able to see so far. Shadows crept along the massive walls, causing Jaime to walk slightly faster.

He could not see much, but he saw something move in the far side of the corridor. Jaime held the torch high and squinted his eyes ahead. It was nothing.

_My imagination had always been vivid... _

Jaime convinced himself as he pressed on.

Suddenly Jaime heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground in front of him. He could not see ahead but the sound was almost resembling a torch falling from the wall - that was what he presumed it to be.

Again, Jaime held the torch high and pressed on.

Jaime had a million things on his mind, but only one that mattered.

_I will kill Ser Barristan Selmy._

Jaime ran the fight through his hair, imagining first moves, parrying and evading blows. He imagined the fight in vivid detail, every swipe and footstep. He walked aimlessly for a few minutes, letting his legs carry him as he imagined the carnage.

Suddenly, he saw himself pierced by Ser Barristan, the regretful eyes of an old man over his body as he tumbled into the ground. Jaime removed the thought from his head, running his fingers through his hair stressfully.

Out of nowhere Jaime heard the sound of heavy steps, but the sound was someone running - very close to him.

Jaime turned around about halfway, his hand on his sword. He saw a figure appearing behind him, something was coming for him. He heard multiple footsteps moving towards him from every direction.

Jaime pulled his sword, barely getting it above his waist.

The shout of a man was heard.

A strong knock to the back of his head.

There was no pain, Jaime Lannister simply fell over, feeling both torch and sword leave his hands.

The cold stone against his cheek as he collapsed onto the floor.

Jaime Lannister saw or felt nothing.

There was only darkness.


	10. Chapter Ten - Jon Snow II

Jon woke to the sound of birds chirping, and the cloth hanging above the doorway leading to the balcony waving gently in the breeze. He had slept with little to no clothing, and even in this warm environment he found himself slightly cold. The memory of his loss hit him hard, the shame washing over the young man's body as he moved the covers away from him. He understood that the tournament was filled with more experienced and larger fighters, but in his heart he had hoped and believed that he could've pulled through. The fighter that had sent him on his way was a larger man, older and quite simply better. Jon didn't remember his name, but it had been one of significance, he was sure. He rose from the warmth of the bed and found his black hair limiting his vision. He swept it back, rising to his feet. He'd extend himself on his heels and stretch with a grunt. His body was battered and sore from the vigorous exercising and hits he had taken.

_If the gods are good we will leave this place before I have to talk to anymore people_

He slipped into a relaxed attire, nothing too fancy for the likes of him. He wondered if it would be decent of him to pretend to still be asleep and simply spend the day in his room, enjoying the solitude. What would Ned do? He asked himself. Eddard was a man that Jon looked up to more than any other, and if he was in doubt or had trouble following his heart he would usually consult the principles he knew his father to hold.

_An honest man, a fearless one. _

He opened the door to the corridor outside, trying to suppress the fear of running into someone that would pass judgment. _No fear _He took a deep breath, walking out onto the beautifully decorated stone. His steps were timid, opposite of his facial expression. He wanted to seem confident in defeat. Perhaps he was overestimating the amount of people that would actually care? Did he really need to have this internal conflict? Before coming up with an answer he found himself met by a fully dressed Sansa.

"Sister" Jon nodded briefly, stopping by her side as their eyes met. "How was yesterday's dinner?". Sansa was slowly turning into a beautiful young woman, but what made Jon think was the fact that she was fully dressed up.

_How long did i sleep exactly? _

"Well father doesn't seem too amused… He's refused to accept the marriage-proposal concerning Robb and Margaery, but lingers when it comes to deciding whether I should marry Ser Loras".

Robb was a little baffled at her answer. "I see" he answered, his eyes flickering between Sansa's and the nothing behind her. "Have they served breakfast as of yet, do you know?"

Sansa let out a laugh, her eyes lighting up as her mouth covered her mouth. "Lunch was hours ago… It's late in the afternoon" She continued her laugh, it feeding off of Jon's reaction. Jon's eyes shot wide open.

_Have I really slept through the night, __and_ _the day?_

"Gods…" Jon took himself to the head, joining in with Sansa for a little while. The two enjoyed the laugh together and briefly locked eyes. The two weren't siblings really, they had different last names and their roles back in Winterfell were entirely different. However, Jon and Sansa did enjoy one another's company.

"Oh, also!" Sansa remembered, raising a finger as her eyes lit up. "Father has extended our stay, turns out we'll be staying during the entire tournament". Jon nodded, leaving Sansa to her business as the two departed. Their encounter had made Jon forget the previous day's hardships. There was a kick to his step and a smile on his face, something had just lightened him up, perhaps it was the plentiful sleep?

He made his way down through the keep, admiring the excellent architecture as he ran into all kinds of servants. Most nobles were resting or spending their time down at the site of the tournament, the castle was pretty barren. Jon entered the great hall, finding himself in luck as two maids were tending a table, emptying it. Jon approached, his hands behind his back as he caught one of the girls eyes.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to know if I could get something to eat" he inquired, trying to be humble. "Of course ser" the girl muttered swiftly, dipping her head before heading off to the kitchens. Had she assumed him a knight since he had the guts to ask for food late in the afternoon? Her departure had been swift nevertheless. The other girl took another plate into her stack and left, her eyes flickering between work and Jon. She was also quite awkward about leaving, her legs moving her away from Jon with haste. Had he done something wrong?

Soon a bowl of soup and three slices of bread found their way in front of Jon, and a tall glass of fresh milk to accompany it. He had thanked the girl that brought the food to him, only to find she hadn't been one of the he had initially asked for the food. Strange. Jon gulped down on the food, finding himself surprisingly hungry once he started eating. Once done he still wanted more, but he wasn't about to try and get another portion. He rose from the bench, his hair finding it troublesome to stay in one place. He swept it back behind his ears once more, annoyed.

Jon moved out of the castle, down a narrow path through the gardens that Highgarden was known for. He overheard two girls talking about a feast, a feast that was to be had later in the evening after all the fighting. Jon hadn't heard about the feast, but presumed that they weren't uncommon during tournaments like this. He continued down towards the tournament grounds, in awe of the sight. There had to be at least ten thousand people spread across the five fields that made up the area. Hundreds of stands and tents, one main arena and three smaller ones. It was a spectacle to behold, and Jon was in the mood for exploring. He made his way through the densely populated area, finding that the Tyrells' had expanded the site further during the night. Jon didn't think he'd be as lucky as to encounter someone he knew well, taking into account the amount of people present.

Jon's ear peaked up at a wondrous sound. A very feminine voice was singing gracefully in the distance, accompanied by the sound of a Lute being strummed. Jon found himself drawn to the sound, and his feet carried him closer. A platform made a respectable stage for all sorts of entertainment acts, and it was currently occupied by a band of sorts. The people didn't appear extraordinarily wealthy, but skilled enough to play for a crowd that consisted almost entirely of nobles and wealthy people. There was a man with a lute, one with a violin and a another with a drum of sorts. The woman singing was stood with what appeared to be a cello by her side, which she was currently not using. Her eyes were closed and she appeared incredibly focused on doing her job.

She was a slender girl with light-brown hair, her facial features were sharp and her eyes were intoxicating. Her skin was tanned ever so slightly and her clothing a little dirty, Jon figured her for a peasant or servant of sorts. The crowd was primarily made up of men, some young and fresh from their own acts, some older and supposedly fresh from escaping their wives. Jon smirked at one frail looking elderly clutching a walking stick, his eyes wide as the woman sang her song.

Jon decided it was enough, and although he had enjoyed the song it was time to seek out other adventure. As he turned something caught his eye. On the far side of the crowd he saw Margaery Tyrell enjoying herself, alone. Jon stared at her a second too long, and her eyes met his. Jon immediately looked away, pretending to peer at something off to her side. He moved his hand up to act as if he attempted to block out the sun, despite it setting behind him.

_Bloody hell_

He heard his inner voice call out as he frantically tried to come up with a way of making a smooth exit from the situation. He started walking, pushing himself through the crowd. Margaery had disappeared from his sights, and he found himself safe and sound in the midst of the crowd.

He appeared on the other side of the crowd, taking a deep breath as his eyes scanned his surroundings. He was convinced that he had made it out without any further awkwardness, and he turned once more to take off. Margaery was stood in front of him, hands folded neatly between her legs. The sight made Jon jump a little, his eyes nervous. Margaery offered him a warm smile "Seems we lost each other in the crowd, Jon snow" she said knowingly, her eyes resting on his. Jon opened his mouth, his brain working on an answer, but he was interrupted just as he was about to speak. "Would you care to join me for tea?" She inquired, her big doe eyes leaving him with little choice.

She stepped closer, the two roughly at the same height, although when close Jon found himself looking down a little. They weren't awkwardly close, but Jon could reach out and touch her at this point. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be proper of me.." he started excusing himself. A bastard sipping tea with a young woman like Margaery would be frowned upon, especially if it wasn't arranged.

"No one has to know" Margaery smiled at him, her features were sweet and very convincing. Jon's face didn't give anything away, his exterior was stoic, although his insides were on fire. "Come on, let us not linger on… People will begin to stare" Margaery voiced sweetly, turning on her heel. Jon didn't answer but soon found himself walking at her side.

_It would be rude to blatantly refuse_

Jon convinced himself, taking a deep breath as he followed the beautiful Tyrell back towards Highgarden.


	11. Chapter Eleven - Cersei II

The floor was cold and moist, the stone harsh against her cheek. She had been sleeping, but failed to remember when or how she fell asleep. Once her eyes opened it all became very clear, or so to speak. There was only darkness in her cell, the touch was her only means of navigating her surroundings, and seeing as she had been going to the bathroom in a bucket not far from her, that was unpleasant business. She could not remember the feeling of sinking her leg into a warm and embracing bath, but she knew she wanted one. There was complete silence in her cell, the stone and iron isolated her from the outside a little too well.

She had gotten used to the terrible smell, gotten used to being filthy. She crept along the dank floor, struggling to move her limbs. Had it been a month now? Cersei didn't know, her thoughts were constantly assaulted by fear and anger, like waves washing up in blackwater bay. Constant fear of death and abandonment, constant fear of what would become of her children.

_Where is Jaime? _

She hadn't seen Jaime in a long while she felt, but then again she had no way of tracking time. Somehow she just knew that the day was drawing near, one of these days she'd be dragged out on display, then fought for. She imagined the scenery, almost poetically. Jaime standing there with a sword drenched in Ser Barristan's innards, the tip dripping with warm velvet coloured blood. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella would rush to her side, and embrace their mother with love in their eyes. She cracked a smile, wincing as her lip split. A small drop of blood made its way down her chin. She moved her tongue out to taste it, the taste somewhat pleasant for some reason.

Her sleep brought her back to a time where problems of this magnitude didn't exist. She remembered quite clearly exploring a meadow with Jaime. Her feet had been bare and flowers were decorating her golden locks. She had only been eight, but the memory itself was strong. Jaime had been wearing a white tunic, and he had taken a fall, causing the green color of the grass to smear on the fine cloth. They had tried to wash it in a nearby stream, but to no avail. She remembered everything about that day, the sun on her skin, Jaime's hand in hers and her toes in the crystal clear waters. Did she have dreams back then? An idea of what kind of life she'd have to lead? She didn't actually remember, all she knew was that she had been a lot happier.

A loud _Clank _rang out in the cell, and soon the door was pushed open. Light flooded her cell like a river breaching a dam. Cersei held her hand up, narrowing her eyes as the silhouette of a man appeared in the door. She felt like sobbing, she knew it was time. She tried to get a look at the man's face, but soon she'd find him dragging her along. The trip through the red keep was a haze, her eyes were still adjusting. The roaring from the many nobles, and the rough gravel under her feet, it was all surreal.

"Ah, my wretched wife" Cersei heard Robert bellow from his chair, talking over Pycelle who was presenting Cersei.

"A trial by combat has been demanded by the accused, Cersei Lannister. The House of Lannister has provided a combatant on her behalf. The crown's combatant will take form in Ser Barristan, Captain of the Kingsguard".

His voice was brittle and shaky, the words barely reaching the outer rows of nobles attending the event. Grand Maester Pycelle was much like expired milk, he was utterly useless and revolting. Cersei's eyes travelled the platform on which Robert and Pycelle sat, only to notice something disturbing. Not one of her family members were present, the seats that would've held them were occupied by lesser nobles. Worry and rage flooded her, she looked around in confusion. Pycelle spoke once more, announcing the rules and conditions under which the fight would be held. Cersei was piecing together many different explanations on why her family wasn't present. Perhaps it was the doing of Robert.

Before Cersei could make sense of the things happening around her, a roar from the crowd echoed in the courtyard. A man in full plate approached from the keep, his tabard was that of a Lannister knight and his helmet was decorated beautifully with gilded lions.

_Jaime _

A hopeful voice sounded out inside Cersei, but her optimism was greatly affected by the fact that her children were missing. Robert had a satisfied smirk spread across his bloated face, his cup frequently meeting his lips.

As the knight stepped closer, something dawned upon Cersei, something she had sensed upon his entry. This man was shorter and of an entirely different frame than her brother Jaime. This was simply not Jaime Lannister.

Cersei's world collapsed on itself, and as the knight took his place in the courtyard, she could do nothing but watch. Jaime had abandoned her, the rest of her family too. She couldn't think straight, so she sat down by a small table. On the other end of the table was the Lannister knights squire.

It was all over, Cersei didn't accept it as fact, but her life was now in the hands of the unknown knight. His walk was impaired by what appeared to be an injury, he was limping ever so slightly. The squire got up and went to hand the knight his sword, the knight accepted it with a nervous hand, staring back at his opposer whom had just arrived. Ser Barristan did not wear a helmet, he wore the armor of a Kingsguard, although the cloak had been left behind. His eyes were narrowed, although at ease, he inspected his opponent carefully before drawing his own sword.

"In the eyes of gods and men, we gather to decide the guilt or innocence of this woman, may the mother grant her merc" Pycelle was cut off by the sound of Robert slamming his palm into his armrest. "Begin!".

Ser Barristan glanced between Robert and the knight before advancing, his facial expression was determined and his step confident. Cersei's eyes widened as the two combatants closed in on one another in the morning sun. The sound of steel connecting rang out, and gasps were heard in the crowd. Cersei looked away, only to be relieved by the continuous sound of swords clashing.

A grunt was heard from the knight, something was odd about the way he winced upon taking a blow, the way he made noises. Cersei was in disbelief, the knight had training but it barely kept Barristan off of him. The shield was his only means of survival, and it had already taken plenty of blows.

Cersei swore she recognized the voice of the knight as he finally landed a blow on Barristan. Barristan deflected the blow and then kicked the younger knight in the inner thigh, sending him to his knees. Cersei gasped, clutching the fabric of her burlap dress. The fight had barely been a minute, and Barristan swiftly disarmed his opponent. The Lannister knight's sword hit the courtyards cobble, kicking up dust as Barristan sent him on his back. Barristan kicked the shield a good ten feet from his fallen opponent before circling him swiftly. Barristan now loomed over the knight, his foot planted firmly on the squirming knight's shoulder. The knight produced a horrible scream, a familiar sound to Cersei. It was the sound of someone without a tongue, trying to beg for his life.

Ser Barristan grit his teeth, placing the tip of his sword carefully in the slit of the knight's visor. With a firm thrust, Ser Barristan planted his sword in his opponent's brain. A nasty crack sounded out as the sword broke bone and severed any flesh between its tip and the knights insides. Ser Barristan removed the sword gracefully, wiping the steel on the knight's Lannister tabard.

There was silence, in the crowd for what seemed a good minute. Suddenly the silence was broken by a low chuckle. Robert was laughing to himself, wiping a tear from his cheek. "The gods have passed judgement" Robert muttered loudly, his voice thick and relentless. His eyes fell on Cersei. There was genuine disdain and resentment to be found in the chubby man's face, and the words that then passed his lips sent shivers down Cersei's spine.

"Cersei Lannister, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading". Whispers broke out in the crowd, and Cersei found herself crying. She didn't feel sad, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. Cersei was overwhelmed with hatred, and before she could react, two Kingsguard found their way to her side. They carried her off, her feet dragging a little as she was removed from the site. Robert smirked widely, glancing down at the fallen Lannister. Cersei swore she saw Robert mouth something along the lines of "What a bloody fool" as she was dragged off into the distance. The next few minutes were strange. She wasn't dreaming, but her senses were barely functioning. Cersei felt herself pass out, losing touch with reality as her bare feet scraped against the stones of the red keep.


	12. Chapter Twelve - Sansa Stark II

Sansa ran her fingers through her hair, inspecting the elegant locks in the mirror. She had been preparing for the feast for at least two hours, first the tailors, then the hairdressers and finally her mother. Catelyn always had the final straw when it came to what Sansa would be wearing, it was just the way it had always been. It wasn't something Sansa dreaded, as a matter of fact she enjoyed spending time with her mother. She sat there, the sun kissing the horizon gently to the west, inspecting her dimly lit face in the mirror. The sound of a violin weeping in the gardens below contributed greatly to the atmosphere, Sansa found the playing beautiful. Her blue eyes rested on the sun. The sun was casting its mix of orange and red across the sky, covering the clouds in beautiful shades of ruby. Sansa smiled at her reflection, then a little higher. She wanted to look good, she wanted to know how to smile properly.

The door creaked open, only to reveal her mother's faces. "Mother" Sansa rose from her seat, meeting Catelyn in the middle of the room. The two embraced, and Catelyn pulled away, holding onto Sansa's sides, observing her. "You look marvelous" she stated simply, her genuine smile revealing dimples in her cheeks. Catelyn herself was beautiful much like Sansa, it was from Catelyn that Sansa had inherited her features.

"I have exciting news" Catelyn said warmly, sitting with Sansa by a small table. The table offered a variety of fruit and nuts, a jug of water and a jug of wine also at their disposal. "Your father has not been himself lately, as you know he's been feeling under the weather" Catelyn spoke gently, her eyes resting on Sansa's.

"Things are changing in King's Landing, and we are going to see changes back in Winterfell too. Your father has been in the talks with the Tyrell's for the greater part of today and as far as I understood they've come to the conclusion... "

Catelyn paused, there was doubt in her eyes for a split second.

"You'll be betrothed to Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden" Catelyn muttered. Sansa's eyes were confused for but a few seconds "Willas? The cripple?" She furrowed her auburn brows and her tone of voice was one of a disappointed person.

"It is arranged my dear, Willas is a good man, I'm sure you'll come to understand once you are wed" Catelyn said kindly. She was not consoling Sansa in this situation, for Sansa did not have a choice, and she knew this.

"I don't want to marry Willas Tyrell" Sansa objected.

_Why a cripple?_

Catelyn frowned, she did not take kindly to this kind of behavior. "You are not in a position to choose young lady" she stated simply, raising her voice a little.

"It's not fair" Sansa complained.

"I came to Winterfell young, much like you will to Highgarden. I am certain you will come to love this man much like I love your father. Now get yourself together before the feast, you won't be ruining the festivities with more sulking".

Catelyn got up and left the room, casting Sansa a pair of loving eyes before closing the door. Catelyn wouldn't yell at Sansa often, and when she did it was usually in Sansa's interest, Sansa could see this often after having calmed down.

Sansa didn't cry, she wasn't upset to the point where she'd do something like that.

_Willas _

She had seen him upon arriving. Willas was not conventionally handsome, but his features were assertive and manly much like Eddard Stark and Tywin Lannister. He reminded Sansa more of a father or an uncle than a husband. That leg of his, that walking stick as well. Sansa wouldn't be able to bare being seen in public with a husband like that. She'd be known as the crippled lord's wife. People would make up stories of her helping him getting dressed, and all other sorts of crazy rumors.

It was not long before the feast, she'd have to leave soon. She rose, her dress one of white and grey silk, embroided with fine black patterns of traditional northern tailoring. Her auburn hair was tied up in a thick braid, a shiny iron ring keeping the hair together at the tip. She did look good, but she feared it wouldn't be enough to distract the other noble families of her current mood.

She made her way out into the beautifully lit corridors of the keep, stepping gently across the smooth stone floor. Banners were up, all torches were lit and the keep was filled to the brink with nobles and servants. Sansa's steps were quiet in the busy keep, and although she did do much to draw attention, she did draw eyes. Soon she found herself in the great hall, and it was a marvel to behold. There were enough tables here to seat half a thousand men and women, there were two elevated platforms with orchestras, and a sections in the middle of it all where five spit roasted boars were being done up.

Sansa was quite impressed, and as she made it through the crowd she found herself even more impressed. The Starks were seated at the very same table as the Tyrell's. In the center sat Mace and on his left Ned Stark, on his right was his wife. Next to Alerie Hightower was Olenna Tyrell and next to her sat Margaery whom was followed by Willas, Garlan and Ser Loras. Next to Ned sat Catelyn, followed by Robb, then an empty seat for Sansa and finally on the far side of the wing on Sansa's left was Jon. Jon was lucky to have been seated like that, Sansa thought.

Sansa made her way up between Robb and Jon, offering both of them a hearty smile. She'd then look around the table, making eye contact with the rest of the present Tyrells, it was a mere greeting. Food hadn't officially been served, but people were enjoying loafs of bread and wine left and right. A strangely soothing bell rang out in the great hall, and people quieted down.

Mace Tyrell rose from his beautiful chair, a smile upon his face.

"It is my pleasure to have the opportunity to announce an agreement that most recently sealed a bond of trust and friendship between the two houses of Tyrell and Stark. Sansa Stark, first born daughter of Eddard Stark has been betrothed to my first born son, Willas Tyrell." Cheering broke out, and the nobles clapped generously at the announcement.

Sansa's eyes fell upon her father whom did not return the glare. He looked uncomfortable, angry even. Catelyn smiled at Sansa, and Sansa forced a weak smirk her mother's way. A hearty chuckle sounded from Mace "But that is not all… House Tyrell has had the honor of having our offer regarding our first and only daughter's hand in marriage… Accepted" More clapping broke out, and joyful laughter was heard around the hall.

"Lady Margaery will give her hand in marriage to Eddard Stark's first born son, Robb Stark! And so our ties will be fastened in the unbreakable pact that is marriage. May this lead to a long and prosperous friendship between our two houses" Mace turned to Eddard with a smile. Eddard rose from his seat, hoisting his cup with Mace to celebrate the announcement.

Sansa was confused, hadn't Eddard entirely refused their offer earlier? All this renegotiating had happened in one day? Catelyn had said that things in King's Landing were stirring, and Sansa had a hunch that this newly formed bond had something to do with the events that were transpiring in the red keep. Sansa knew for a fact that Eddard did not want for this to happen, but she also knew that her father took Catelyn's council into consideration. Perhaps this was the best move for their house, for the north.

Robb was delighted it seemed, he was toasting with his parents, with everyone within reach in fact. Food was carried out from the corridors outside, and the boars in the center were cut into. The smell of food filled the hall, and soon the ale and wine would flow. Sansa suddenly locked eyes with Willas, whom was eyeing her from across the long table. His eyes were intelligent, deep and frankly they frightened Sansa a little. She looked away, resting her eyes on Jon to the right. Jon was peering across the table as well, his eyes were resting between Olenna and Margaery. His almost black eyes flickered between Margaery and Sansa for a second, and he exclaimed "Hrm?" whilst pouring himself some ale.

"Did you know of this?" Sansa spoke in awe. Jon shook his head "Of course not, I don't even think Robb knew" Jon nodded at Robb "Look at him" a smile spread across Jon's face. Sansa turned to Robb "Were you aware?" Robb met her eyes, a glimmer in his. "Had a hunch" he merely stated before turning back to the conversation he was having with Garlan.

Sansa peered over at Margaery. Already now Margaery's eyes rested on Robb, like a cat eyeing a bird from afar. Sansa found her eyes full of something, but she couldn't tell exactly what. "When will the wedding take place?" Robb asked his father rather loudly.

"The weddings will be held separately within the next few months, however we have arranged for Sansa to stay and Margaery to travel with us back to Winterfell. It would be good for them to spend some time in their new homes before they are wed" Eddard spoke, wiping his mouth from the ale he had eagerly sipped seconds before.

"Heard!" Mace roared, clinking his cup against Ned's with a laughter. The festivities were certainly not dimmed by Sansa's mood, she couldn't worsen the atmosphere in the hall if she tried.

Sansa looked around in the busy hall, and a peculiar character caught her eye.

_The Imp… Tyrion Lannister_

At the Lannister table not far from the main table sat Tyrion Lannister with what appeared to be Lannister knights, or nobles from that region of the land. Sansa wondered for a second where Jaime, Tywin and Kevan Lannister had gone. She didn't think much of it, so she returned her gaze to her own table.

Margaery was still staring at Robb with hungry eyes, and as far as Sansa could tell, Robb was returning the favour. Sansa was slightly annoyed by the aggressive eye contact the two shared, but did not make a big deal of it. She looked back to Willas to find him conversing with Mace and Ned.

A sigh escaped Sansa Stark's lips, for she was tired and quite annoyed with her situation. She didn't want any of this. For once she'd prefer to spend some time getting teased by Arya, a night in the biting cold of Winterfell perhaps.

_What is to become of me? _

Just as Sansa spaced out, falling deeper into her thoughts, she found someone pouring her a cup of wine. Next to her, in the seat previously occupied by Robb sat Willas, and in Willas' seat now sat Robb, next to Margaery. The firm grip around the jug eased as Willas placed it on the table top, a warm smile spreading across his face as Sansa's eyes met his.

"My Lady Sansa, I don't believe we've been formally introduced" The deep and soothing voice sounded from the bearded man.

Sansa found herself cracking a faint smile.


End file.
